Alter
by Apteryx
Summary: How can someone who's suddenly gained Peter Parker's Spider-powers hope to fight one of his deadliest enemies? It's all over now... or is it? Please review! *COMPLETED!*
1. Alter

DISCLAIMER: This piece of writing uses characters copyrighted by Marvel, without permission. This material is used for the purposes of non-profit entertainment, and is not intended to interfere with Marvel's right to use said characters for their own commercial goals.

Now _that's_ out of the way… This is the first piece of fanfic I have ever written. Please let me know what you think of it! I have further chapters written/in the pipe-line if interested.

Cheers,

Apteryx

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Chapter 1: Alter

'What's happened? My spider powers…gone!' Spider-Man thought as he looked up in disbelief. But trying to sound confident as he got up from the ground and preparing to go on as if nothing had happened, he said only, "What was that Chuckles? Your flashlight needs new batteries!" The costumed villain ignored him. As usual for villains, this one had to brag. 

"Not so strong now, are we Spider-Man? I hit you with my Alter-ray - my finest invention. It alters your reality with someone else's reality in an alternate universe. Only, that random person lives in a world where there are no such things as super-powers! Your powers are lost to you forever! Farewell Spider-Man. Now you are out of action I have no further interest in you. Who needs to kill Spider-Man when Spider-Man no longer exists? Haaaaaa…" The villain took off without waiting for a reply and disappeared. 

Spider-Man sagged on the roof-top in shock. It was late morning, and already the day had ended in disaster. At least the villain had been so busy boasting he hadn't bothered trying to unmask him - he wouldn't have been able to stop him. He felt so… strange, weak. He had to get home - but not as Spider-Man, not when he couldn't… He'd thought about, or even attempted, giving up being Spider-Man numerous times, but only once had it been because he had, as it turned out, temporarily lost his powers. But to have it all end, suddenly without warning like that. It looked like it might be permanent this time too - how the hell did an 'alter-ray' work anyhow? Could the effects be reversed? First things first… find a line of washing… get down from the roof… and a long walk home.

* * *

Erica flung her bag over her shoulder and grabbed the car keys as she rushed down the stairs. Damn. She was going to be late meeting Liz for breakfast if she didn't get a hurry on, and she hated being late. Usually she planned things so that she had at least five minutes to spare, but that morning she'd slept in when her alarm didn't go off. The trouble with sleeping in is that it usually made her feel disoriented and out of time for the rest of the day. 

Slightly out of breath, she pushed open the garage door giving an extra effort at the spot where it tended to stick, wondering vaguely how she had got so unfit. Sedentary lifestyle lately, she mused. That was one reason she hadn't replaced the old clunger of the garage door with an automatic one; that, and her salary. It was enough that at least she owned it, and had off-street parking into the bargain. If she walked down the hill to work instead of taking her car everyday she'd be fit again in no time. 

She turned to the car and was about to get in when, without warning, she was struck by a massive headache. It was more than a headache; her head felt as if it were exploding, about to scatter in all directions. She felt sick, hot, flushed and everything seemed distorted. Falling heavily onto the concrete floor, her keys flew out from her hand, incapacitated by the excruciating pain. She closed her eyes, and realised she was going to faint. 'How ridiculous,' she thought as she blacked out, 'fainting while lying down…'

Coming to, Erica's first impression was of dampness. She was lying on something soft and damp. That's funny. Then she heard unfamiliar bird song, and the sound of running water, a little torrent. Wha..? As she lifted up her head to look and started to pick herself up, her head exploded in pain again. This time though, it was not so much pain, as a sudden, urgent and compulsive sensation. Without thought, she jumped up and sideways, landing on her feet three metres away from where she had been lying. 

She turned and gaped in astonishment. Overwhelming detailed impressions assaulted her: she was surrounded by blossoming trees; nearby was a narrow concrete path and a small boisterous stream overhung by the trees; sunlight dappling through the leaves and patterning the path and the water; a young man dressed in dark baggy jeans and a hoodie with the hood pulled up obscuring his face was standing on the ground; she felt very weird, almost floaty; and she had just jumped _three metres_ from a crouching position without any effort. 

In the few seconds it took for her to take all this in, the man recovered himself and made a snatch for Erica's handbag, which was still lying in the leaf mold where she had lain. With the part of her mind that was still with it, Erica realised that the thief was making off with her bag. 

"Hey!" she shouted, and ran after him as he took off down the path. Within seconds, she had caught up with him, "That's my bag!" she shouted at him. 

The young man stopped and faced Erica with his fists out ready to punch. Erica had focused so much on getting her handbag back, that she took no notice of this in the heat of the moment. Instead, hoping to distract him, she kicked at his leg, putting all the force of her confusion and anger that she could behind the kick. The man screamed and went flying backwards along the path. Erica swooped down, picked up her bag where the thief had dropped it, and clutching it to her chest, took a couple of hesitant steps towards him, ready to run away. He was lying in foetal position, clutching his leg with his hands and still screaming. He whimpered and the whites of his eyes showed as Erica approached. She looked down at him, at his leg in confusion. Had she really hurt him that badly? Then she really saw his leg; it was bent at a strange angle halfway down the shin. A sickening lurch went through her stomach, and she felt she was going to throw up. Did she do that? Surely it was the way he fell… 

Erica took a breath, and then panicking, broke into a run down the path. 'Help' she wanted to scream, but she didn't. She ran. She wanted to get away from the scene. As she ran, following the curve of the path, she started wondering where she was. Had she suffered some sort of memory loss when she blacked out? The path could have been anywhere; perhaps one of the walkways near her home. Maybe she had wondered off, aimlessly. 

Still running, Erica saw another person along the path. 

"Hey!" she called out. 

The man pretended he hadn't heard, and quickly took a side path before Erica reached him. As she neared where he had turned off, she saw a middle-aged couple coming her way from further down the path. They were unconcerned, obviously thought she was a jogger. Erica thought 'That man… I can't just leave that man back there like that but I don't want to go back - see him, his leg again,' and slowed down. 

"There's a hurt man back there" she said to the couple, pointing back the way she had come. They looked a little alarmed at that.

"Oh my! There's an emergency call box by the Ravine." The woman said with a strong accent, looking concerned. "We'll give the authorities a call. What did you say was wrong with the man?"

"Uh, broken leg, I think." 

The woman patted Erica's arm. "That's a distressing thing for a visitor to deal with. You go on now - we'll take care of it."

"Thanks" nodded Erica, and ran on. 

Visitor? They must be visitors to Wellington. She thought she knew where she was now; in Central Park, just down the hill from were she lived. The trees were starting to thin out a bit, and the path get steeper. She passed a few more people now, strolling along. None of them gave her a second glance. Over the sound of bird song, traffic noise was now audible. Erica reached the top of a rise, slowed down and gasped in shock. 

Spread out before her was a totally unexpected view; rising above a small still lake and surrounding trees, was a wall of tall buildings. Erica was dazed, confused. She walked to a nearby bench that was set out to make the most of the lake views, and sat down feeling shaky. Where the heck was she? In some huge park was certain. She knew she wasn't anywhere close to home. How long had she had amnesia? She also couldn't think of anywhere… and yet, there was a nagging familiarity. Could she have seen a photo of this view, this place somewhere?

The birds sang unconcerned at the turbulent thoughts of the pedestrian below them. Erica walked along a major path. Walking helped her think, to try and make sense of things. She was beginning to suspect where she might possibly be; the buildings, the scene around her, trees in blossom, unfamiliar signage, the accented voices of people talking as she passed them. She didn't feel ready to put her assumptions to the test however. She also had other concerns. 

Erica tried mentally ticking off the points to see if she could make anything of it. She had passed out and woken in a strange place. She had somehow known to jump away from a danger to herself. She had jumped! She had broken a man's leg with her kick. She had run and walked without getting puffed or tired. 'What does that add up to?' thought Erica, 'I don't really know… it's impossible… Somehow I have got fit - no, more than fit - faster and stronger than is normal.' 

She was in a more populated part of the park now, with more changes of areas. She was now passing through a stunning spring garden, all reds and yellows. It _had_ been autumn…had six unaccounted for months passed? The sun came out from behind cloud, and set off the vibrancy of the flowers. Erica noticed an abandoned newspaper folded neatly on one of the rustic benches. Quickly, she made for the bench and the paper; she felt apprehensive as she picked the paper up, and it trembled slightly in her hands. She plopped onto the bench rather abruptly when she read the paper's masthead: The New York Times. 

New York! Her suspicions fell into place. Erica put the paper back down. What was she doing in New York City? She was in the wrong Central Park! This couldn't be real! What was she going to do, how was she going to get back home?

Then something else she'd seen in the paper came to her conscious; the date. It was yesterday's date - six months hadn't passed. Working out the approximate time difference on her fingers, she realised that in actual fact, no time at all had passed between blacking out in the garage and coming to in New York. Instantaneous travel, like she'd been teleported or something. 

But that was impossible. 

She sat in thought. It came to her that she was lucky that she did still have her handbag. She opened it to check the contents - did she have any money with her? No, just a few NZ dollars. At least she had her credit card that she could use; she would have to budget, plan carefully She would need to find somewhere to stay for tonight at least, she also needed information, directions, and a map. Erica looked around. There was an elderly gentleman in a grey jacket and cloth cap, sitting reading on the next bench. He looked approachable - she went up to him. 

"Excuse me," she asked, "Could you tell me where I might find a visitor's information centre?"

He looked up at her, "What's that? Information? Well, if you go along that path up there, there's Belvedere Castle. That's got some Central Park information. But there's a big center for New York on Columbus Circle. Just follow this main path to the south-west gate. I'm sure you'll find it."

"Thank-you."

"You're welcome," said the man, and went back to his book without a second glance. 

It was mid afternoon. Erica had found the Information Center no problems. She had gone round taking all manner of pamphlets and brochures off the racks, then asked one of the staff where she could find a reasonably priced hotel. The woman had smiled as she handed over a plastic tote bag for the brochures, and suggested a hotel close by. When Erica heard the name of it, the Hotel Wellington, she almost felt that it was a sign. 

It was a 1930's gem, all Art Deco accents and an old-fashioned, comfortable air to it. She was glad to be able to get a room and go up to it at once. The concierge didn't turn an eye to the fact she had no luggage with her; she supposed that guests' luggage got lost all the time, something like that anyway. 

The room was small. It had a beamed plaster ceiling, and was decorated in muted, warm colours. The double bed took up most of the space; a bed-side cabinet and a little desk and chair took up some more. Erica took her jacket and her shoes off and lay on the bed, her mind whirling. To her surprise, she found she was crying. After a while, once the gush of tears was over, she felt much better, perhaps she'd feel better still after a shower. Going into the ensuite, Erica started running the water while she automatically undressed, wrapped in her own thoughts. She held her arm out to test the temperature of the water before stepping into the shower, but stopped suddenly before her hand touched the water.

What was this? Her arm muscles, unexpectedly, were really ripped! Although she had become unfit recently, she still had had some muscle definition especially in the arms and her broad shoulders from the years she had spent as a sailor, but this! She looked down at the rest of her body - the change was even more spectacular. Well, all those _muscles_ explained why she had become so strong, but how did she get them? Was it a.. a side-effect of how she was somehow transported to New York? 

Erica hopped under the water and had a quick shower, still shocked and bewildered by all the changes. Emotionally she had been overwhelmed with all that had happened to her, now in her hotel room she was in a place unobserved by anyone, where she could relax and feel safe for a while at least. She didn't have to be battered by unfamiliar sights and sounds, constantly on the alert. Erica found herself slowly accepting the fact that something weird had occurred, and that she was in New York City. She determined to make the best of it. An early dinner at the hotel's restaurant - she'd missed lunch - and then an early night. 

Tomorrow morning…tomorrow she would contact the Consulate.

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	2. Alternate?

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Chapter 2: Alternate world.

Erica discovers something shocking about New York, and about herself.

……………………………….

Erica sipped her cup of tea and grimaced. She could tell she was in a city of coffee drinkers; it was like bad McD's tea. She was having a very early breakfast in the hotel's cafe, about to start on a flaky croissant and a banana. Already a roll and more fruit was secreted in her handbag. She had brought down with her the morning newspaper that she found folded outside her room door when she stepped out - something to read, especially while eating alone was a good idea. Last night at dinner she wished she had had a book with her or at least the tourist brochures she'd left up in her room. Oh well. 

Erica unfolded the paper and received her first two shocks of the day. Her tea cup clattered in it's saucer. As she read, she forgot about eating. The paper was 'The Daily Bugle'. How did she come to be reading a copy of that? She checked the date; no, it wasn't April 1st. The second piece that startled her was the main headline: 'Big Apple Bites Spider-Man', and under the headline, a photo of Spider-Man swinging somewhere. 

She read the story in increasing astonishment. It seemed that the Daily Bugle had got information 'from a reliable source', that Spider-Man was no more. She wryly noted that there was very little substance in the article to back up such a big headline, but it was not the fact that Spider-Man was presumed dead that shocked her. It was the fact that there was a Spider-Man at all. To her, Spider-Man, and the Daily Bugle were pieces of fiction. 

Spider-Man was a comic book character. He wasn't _real_, fer cryin' out loud! She quickly turned the pages of the newspaper, scanning the other news items. Besides reporting stuff such as 'New tunnel work delayed', and 'Mystery virus strikes three', there were several mention of super heroes and villains, and in a sensationalist manner - she guessed the Daily Bugle was very much in the tabloid style. Lowering the paper onto the table, she wondered if another newspaper, the New York Times for example, contained articles on superheroes. 

She rushed through the rest of her breakfast, and swallowed down the lukewarm tea without noticing it's taste this time, and folded up the paper again to take it with her back to her room. On the way, she saw rooms with newspapers still outside the doors - the occupants hadn't got up yet. Almost furtively, she went along, looking at the papers until she found a copy of the New York Times and with a look around, she quickly bent down, picked the paper up and tried to look as though she were walking casually back to her room. 

Once there, she spread open the paper on her bed and started to read it. Again, there were news items about super heroes, and being a more respectable newspaper, the Times' reportage was more restrained and matter of fact. Erica sat back against the wall to think. She had somehow been transported to New York. O.K. What if that hadn't been while she had amnesia or something. What if there had been no time at all between passing out in New Zealand and waking up in New York? Today's date in the paper was the same date as it had been back in New Zealand yesterday, which figured, allowing for the normal time difference between the two countries.

And she supposed if such a thing were possible, than why should she be surprised to learn that certain fiction was now fact? No reason. Except… except things like that just _couldn't_ happen… could they? She had to find out. If it could, if it was the case, then it was no use going to the Consulate - they wouldn't be able to help her get back to her 'real' home. 

She sighed, still half in disbelief at the direction her thoughts were taking. She could be here longer than she thought. And then, there was the extra strength she discovered she had yesterday - or did she just imagine that? But… those muscles…

Erica decided to test it out. She hopped off the bed and took hold of one of it's legs. She felt silly, and was glad no one else was there to observe her. Slowly, she stood upright, and without effort, lifted the double-sized bed up… and over her head, balancing it with no trouble at all. 

In amazement she put it down again a lot faster than she had picked it up, and stood, half bemused and half incredulous at what she had just done. She looked at the other side of the bed, then did a standing jump over it. She turned, took a couple of steps and leapt over the bed towards the far wall and landed in a crouch. As she straightened up, she accidentally knocked the chair over and the lamp off the writing desk. She caught the chair with one hand before it hit the floor and then the lamp before it had even fallen off the table. 

Erica paused with the lamp in her hand, and thoughtfully replaced it. She looked through the pile of brochures she had left on the desk last night, and picked a couple out. All at once she strode over to the door, put her jacket on, threw her bag over her shoulder and left the room.

…………………….

The light gleamed warmly off the surface of the table, and shone onto Erica's face as she turned the pages. She closed the book and stared non-seeing, into the distance. She stirred, picked up the notes she had written and gathered the books together. Returning the books, she left the library and walked into the sun. 

She remembered a park nearby she had passed on the way to the library, and headed that way. She was hungry, and looking at her watch, saw that it was late morning. The park was full of folding chairs that could be moved and placed where you wanted to sit; there were already quite a few people who had the same idea about lunch - the seats were being used fast. Erica found an unoccupied one and took it where she could sit and look out over the lawn and over tress across to the skyscrapers of Midtown. She took from her handbag the roll wrapped in a paper napkin and a couple of pieces of fruit that she had saved from breakfast. With only a credit card for money, and no other way of getting small change she had to plan ahead. Digging her notes from her pocket where she had stuffed them, she re-read them while munching. 

She knew what had happened to her wasn't normal, even in this version of the world where superheroes were part of the reality. She had gone to the library to see if she could find out when a divergence took place from her reality and this one. She had narrowed it down to the mid-thirties, or at least the beginning of World War Two. She hadn't been able to pinpoint any one event where it all changed though. The differences were very subtle, as far as she could tell, with the memory of her scant knowledge of New York and American history. 

She placed the notes into her handbag and finished her lunch in the warm sun. She got up, feeling the need to be active. It was a novel, if frightening feeling - so this was what it was like to be fit. But not _only_ fit… She was itching to explore her new-found body further. How high could she jump? But… not here, she had to find somewhere private, and how easy was that going to be, as a stranger in a city of this size? 

In the meantime, Erica decided to be a tourist for the afternoon, do some sight-seeing and explore the city while she had the chance; she had been so full of purpose that morning that she had strode past the sights of midtown Manhattan on her way to the branch of the New York Public Library without seeing anything. At least she had fitted in with the crowds of workers on their way to work. She consulted one of her brochures that included a relatively detailed map of New York for a free give-away, and set off.

………………………

What a stupid thing to do... Erica stood lost in a maze of alleyways. She had taken what she thought was a possible short-cut from one block to another, but the route had twisted and she lost her orientation. Not many people were about, but Erica tried following a couple until they went into a side door to a building. 

What now? She continued walking, aware that even in the day, walking in unfamiliar alleyways in the middle of Manhattan was not a good idea. Big bins and skips, rubbish blown out, sodden and collected in corners like dead things, remnants of a civilisation. It was later in the afternoon now, turning cooler, and the office buildings would soon be disgorging their commuters on their way home for the evening. 

Shadows gathered on the ground where she was, though she could still see the sun at the tops of the building when she tilted her head back to look up. Maybe she could work out roughly which direction to go by the sun and the shadows cast by buildings. Let's see, the sun sets in the west… 

She was still looking up when suddenly she had that urgent, imperative sensation in her head that she had the day before. She leapt straight up, and narrowly missed being hit by a speeding bike messenger, who also had the idea of taking a short-cut. In split-second amazement, Erica found she had leapt about two stories high, and then she panicked - she was also going to _fall_ two stories! 

Without really thinking of what she was doing, she grabbed at the wall halfway down as she fell. And stuck. To. The. Wall. Terrified, Erica clung, arms outstretched either side of her head. She laid her head against the grainy concrete and looked at her hands. _She was clinging to the surface of the building by her hands_. She was scared; getting stronger and faster, while not normal, was something she could sort of cope with as it was basically an extension of normal human abilities. But this… sticking to walls was just not normal, not something she could comprehend, not at the moment. 

Erica closed her eyes, she felt her face redden. She couldn't stay up the wall. She had to get down. She opened her eyes, held her breath and… let go. As simple as that. She landed in a crouch on the concrete ground below, aware that she had not even felt the impact of a landing from that height.

As she stood up, she felt that her knees should give way or something - she was shaky and cold. She wanted to head to bed and stay there, burrowed under the blankets, until this nightmare stopped, went away. 

A huge sense of homesickness washed over her - she wanted to be home, near friends she could talk to, with her familiar belongings around her, her lounge with it's large bookshelves and views over the harbour, the rows of CDs of the music she loved. Yeah, a comfy chair and a good cup of tea. She took in a deep shuddering breath and let it out again. The Hotel Wellington was the best she could do for now. 

Erica walked away from the alleyway, and found herself on the street a turn later. She discovered she was closer to the hotel than she had thought; about five blocks away. Walking anonymously through the steadily increasing crowds, Erica was glad of the activity. It helped her to not think about what had just happened.

……………………..

Once back in her hotel room, her sanctuary in New York, she dropped her bag and jacket on the floor, took off her shoes, and went into the ensuite to wash her hands and face. She studied herself in the mirror, and was almost surprised to see that she didn't look any different, only flushed. She went into the bedroom and her eye fell on the newspapers, now neatly folded on the bed. 

She pulled out the Daily Bugle and read the headlines and accompanying article again. Various thoughts went through her head, as she stared unblinking at the photo of Spider-Man. Mentally, she shuffled and indexed all that she had discovered over the last two days. She was still scared, but now she had the barest outline of a plan, something to do. 

She only hoped it would help.

……………………………..

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Next: And what of Peter Parker?


	3. Rellies

A/N: This tale may seem slow getting started, but I've planned it as novel length. I promise you you'll get to read plenty of action in upcoming chapters, so hang in there, and as Stan Lee used to say, don't let your web get tangled!

Cheers!

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Chapter Three: Rellies.

In which Peter Parker meets a long lost relative, but exactly _how_ is she related?

Peter Parker was in front of the computer at a spare desk at the Daily Bugle trying to appear busy. Jameson had been mildly astonished at the almost regular hours that he'd been putting in the last couple of days, but unfortunately those regular hours were not producing the photos that Jameson wanted. 

In an ironic twist, Peter Parker was in danger of losing his job. No more Spider-Man, no more Spider-Man pics, no job. Peter pulled a face. Jameson of course had had a field day when the news came in that Spider-Man was no more. The headlines in the Daily Bugle the day before had screamed "Big Apple Bites Spider-Man!". Thankfully, there were no details of how Spider-Man had met his end - only that he was no more. And one thing was true; he hadn't been seen since. 

Meanwhile, Peter was still coming to terms with the sudden loss of his abilities. While he was thankful that no longer would he have to put Aunt May or the others that he loved at risk again, not to mention himself, he still felt guilty and was worried at the results to the city the news would have - all the villains who would feel they now had a free hand now Spider-Man wasn't there to stop them. Peter dreaded it in some ways, knowing he was impotent to do anything about it, but still knowing he couldn't fully quit the sense of responsibility. 

Stupid. That was all that had been keeping him going as Spider-Man recently; he had long ago stopped enjoying this business, and the break up with Mary-Jane was the last straw. In some ways too, he was glad he'd lost his powers, maybe there would be a chance for them… He was still debating how he was going to tell Mary-Jane - in the meantime, he felt guilty he hadn't called her or answered any of her messages. 

Peter looked up at his monitor - he was scanning the want ads. Luckily, one of the perks of working for a newspaper was first dibs on the classifieds.

'Breeeep'. Peter picked up his phone. "Mr Parker, there's someone to see you at reception," came the receptionist's voice. "Oh great" muttered Peter to himself, then louder, "Who is it? What do they want?" 

"She didn't give a name. She said it was personal". Helen's tone was frosty - she didn't like time wasters - either visitors or staff. Peter sighed. It was probably one of the contacts he had so assiduously developed - he got a lot of tips off these people that were useful to him as Spider-Man. Usually though, they phoned, or left cryptic messages about when and where to meet. 

"I'll be right out". He made sure of his wallet. Sometimes it was safer to take these 'tips' out of the building, out for a coffee. They usually preferred it that way too. He wondered what use he'd be able to put the information to now that he could no longer act on these things as Spider-Man - pass it on to one of the reporters, he supposed. 

He went through the door and eyed the stranger sitting on one of the uncomfortable chairs in reception, reading yesterday's edition of the Bugle. Jameson believed that even visitors to the Bugle's offices should have to pay for the current day's edition. 

The stranger looked up as he came through, and stood up, putting the paper down and her purse over her shoulder as Peter approached. He saw a mildly attractive woman about his age, with short dark hair and grey eyes. Peter noticed that her hands and face were tanned, almost as if she'd recently been on a long vacation somewhere, but he got the impression that she acquired it through an outdoorsy lifestyle. She had an intelligent look about her, as if too, despite the tan, she spent a lot of her time inside reading, was well-educated - he couldn't tell what gave him that impression. She had no make up on and was casually dressed in dishevelled looking old jeans and fleece jacket, and was wearing sensible red shoes on her feet. Peter thought she was rather over-dressed for the warm spring day that it was. 

She looked a bit flushed as she met his eyes directly and spoke to him. "Peter Parker?" She held out her hand, "Hi, I'm Erica Stirling. I wondered if we could talk…" she said quietly. 

She had an accent he couldn't place. English? Australian? She glanced warily at Helen as Peter shook hands with her. He guessed she had got the full icy blast from the receptionist. He turned his head and said over his shoulder "I'm out for a while - don't tell Jonah!" And then to Erica "Let's go for a coffee." 

He pulled a face at Erica as they got into the elevator - he could imagine Helen's tight-lipped glare following them. "So, where are you from?" he asked, making small talk, as they went down, "I couldn't place your accent." 

"I'm from New Zealand", she said. 

"Hey, I've heard it's a very scenic country. Are you on vacation here?" 

"No. Not really…" Peter was puzzled - she wasn't a 'tip' then, why did she want to see him? And she seemed sort of nervous and… something else he couldn't put a finger on. His spider-sense told him nothing. And then he remembered. He didn't _have_ a spider-sense any more. Relying on it had become so automatic that he couldn't quite get to grips with it's loss.

"I have something to tell you…" she started saying, and then stopped. She looked at him, swallowed and started again. "Maybe when we're somewhere private sitting down."

"Uh, sure." They both were quiet, Peter realising she didn't want any small talk.. He led them to the coffee shop around the corner - it was busy enough that any conversation would be reasonably private. 

"What do you want? A regular?" 

Erica looked at him and then at the board. "Huh? A cup of tea?" 

"Tea! Well O.K." 

When they were seated at a table near the window, Erica took a couple of sips from her tea, "I don't know how to say this…" she began quietly, playing with the unused sugar sachet, "…but I think you're my cousin." 

"My cousin!!" Peter was staggered. He knew he was an orphan, but he didn't think he had had any relatives left apart from his Uncle Ben and Aunt May, and Uncle Ben was no longer alive… "But how can you be? I'm an orphan!" he exclaimed not entirely logically. 

Erica looked up at him, very flushed and red in the face. She started taking off her jacket, at the same time explaining, "Uh. On your mother's side. Her father's brother travelled around the place a lot. He ended up in New Zealand and settled down. He was my granddad. I never met him, he died when I was a baby. I never knew he was American. I never realised he had relatives in the States until I was going to come here. My Mum mentioned him, and said I should find out if there were any unknown rellies. It took me a while to find any! I found out my granddad had a brother who had a daughter who had a son…I can't understand why there's this great big gap on information about your parents. But I did find out that you went to live with your Dad's relatives. So I looked them up and managed to get hold of Mrs Parker on the phone. Your Aunt May. She was so excited! She told me where you worked…" 

Peter was gob-smacked. A cousin! He had other family! Erica looked a bit less hot now she had off-loaded both her jacket and her story. "I hope it's not too much of a shock," she said gently, "It came as a surprise to me, and I'm sure this news doesn't mean the same to me as it does to you." 

Peter stared at her, his coffee untouched. "I…I…Woo Hooo!" he suddenly yelled, "This is great! I have family!! I'm so excited too, no wonder Aunt May was!" Maybe things were starting to come right! Part of Peter really was excited - a long-lost relative! But part of him, his more cynical and wary side, the side that had been disappointed so often in the past, wondered why Erica was looking a little… nervous still, and sad too.. Peter dashed those thoughts away. He had so much lost time to make up for, so much to show her. Was she in New York for long? What were her plans for the afternoon? 

"No plans. What did you have in mind?" she said warily. 

"Sight-seeing? Nah, you've probably already seen the touristy places."

"Not all" replied Erica, "Though I'd rather see something a little more off-beat. You know, the 'hidden' New York. If there is such a thing."

"O.K. If you don't mind doing the nerd trail. That's pretty hidden. Though I think we'll skip some of the gems like the Troll Museum."

"Really? There's really a museum devoted to trolls?"

"Yup. And pianos. And bras."

"Biz-zare!"

"Let's start with the Skyscraper Museum then. It's not off-beat, but it's very New York."

"Sounds great!" said Erica, looking somehow relieved. It was a warm day out now, but now her jacket was off, Peter could see she had on a long woollen top. Erica caught him looking at her top and jacket and smiled. "It's colder in New Zealand at the moment - different season. I guess I didn't pack the right clothes." And she smiled again, as if at a private joke. 

Later, after travelling through the city, having lunch and visiting places of interest, Peter was pleasantly surprised to find that they had some common ground. Erica really did like museums and libraries, how cool was that? His initial impression of her being well-educated proved to be correct. She said her favourite place had been the Patents division of the New York Public Library. 

However he thought it strange when she evaded any personal questions he asked, and didn't ask any of her own. Peter thought she had seemed somehow reluctant to talk much, almost as if she were shy, but she laughed several times at Peter's jokes as he gave a commentary on the sights they were seeing. 

"What are those sort of chimneys on the footpath?" she asked, pointing to one of the structures with an elaborately fashioned top that had steam wisping out of it.

"Vents from underground, to let out stale air and smoke from the subway - and the evil miasma that collects in subterranean lairs of egotistical madmen." Peter leered. 

Peter also thought it was strange that Erica hadn't offered to pay for any of the costs; for lunch, entrance fees and subway rides. Not that he minded. It was his treat after all, but… perhaps the New Zealand culture was different in that way. 

As if she had been reading his mind, Erica said to him "Hey, thanks for paying my way for me. I'm sorry I don't have any change in US dollars - you can have a Kiwi one if you want, though its only worth 50 cents." She reached into her purse and pulled out a wallet. Peter couldn't help noticing it was a very empty looking purse for a foreign visitor. Perhaps she was wise, and had left her important documents back at her hotel.

"Thanks for the investment!" he said as he looked at the coin. A dollar coin? It was getting on towards evening, and he was tired. All the walking and standing around he wasn't used to without his spider-powers to provide endurance. Erica had to be tired too. Her looked at her out the corner of his eye as they walked down the sidewalk, but she didn't look tired at all, just pre-occupied in her own thoughts. She reminded him of someone… himself at times. "Hey, er… you want to go back to your hotel and freshen up? I'll call on you later, take you out to dinner. My treat," he said with a smile. 

Erica smiled back, but also looked a little alarmed. "Oh, um… I don't think I could get any fresher at my hotel." She said. Peter groaned inwardly - maybe she was staying at some cheap dive somewhere; budgeting and all that. 

"Well," he said, "I'm beat. I need to do a bit of freshening up myself. My apartment's not too far away from here. Do you mind if…?" He hesitated a bit. Was it wise inviting her to his apartment? There was still something… not right about Erica. He supposed it was that she was from a different country, but he did still have a knack for sensing that something was not quite right that had nothing to do with any spider-sense, and a lot to do with the native wit he had been born with. He mentally shrugged. It wasn't as if he had anything to hide. Apart from his immediate past. And he was sure he could still handle himself if threatened…

"No. no, go ahead." said Erica. 

"Hey, I meant you come too!" Peter replied, "I'm not trying to lose a relative when I've only just found her!"

Twenty minutes later, they were at Peter's apartment. It was near the top of a building devoted to photography - a large store that sold photographic supplies on the first floor and studios on the other floors. Peter was lucky to get the penthouse apartment; contacts in the photography profession had come in useful. Even though 'penthouse' sounded swanky, it was an old, totally un-swanky caretakers apartment, but the rent was cheap. 

Exiting from a cranky elevator into a dingy hallway, Peter unlocked the door to his apartment. "Home." He announced as they entered. Erica stood in the middle of a small living area and looked around the tidy room. A tiny kitchenette was in one corner, an old saggy couch with cream-coloured cushions and a length of cotton fabric thrown over it, along the far wall, and a tiny table with two wooden chairs opposite. The grey wall between was covered in books. Erica moved to scan the titles. An eclectic collection in no apparent order sat on the shelves. 

"Soda?" Peter asked. He placed a can on the table while Erica was looking at the books. She didn't seem to acknowledge the action, but shortly turned and sat in one of the wooden chairs. Peter had taken his shoes off and was slouched on the couch with his feet up. He had opened the small windows and helped himself to an icy soda from the fridge. He was still reasonably fit - all those years of web-swinging and wall-crawling meant he was no slouch - but his feet hurt. Erica finished her soda, and sat upright in her chair. She was looking a little uncomfortable, but Peter didn't think it was because she was hot or worn-out. Maybe she was still a little wary of him - after all, she was alone with a man who was virtually a stranger to her. 

"I…" she started, just as Peter said "What do you want for dinner? Shall we grab a slice?" 

"Eh?" she said, puzzled.

"Shall we go get pizza?" clarified Peter.

"Um, pizza… pizza's fine." A pause. "Thanks for showing me around Pete. I'm sorry, but I've got..." 

She broke off suddenly and looked around in alarm. 

Peter half sat up, what the? The phone rang. Peter reached out his arm and answered it. "Jake's Dry Cleaning! Oh, hi Aunt May! Guess who's here? Cousin Erica!" He looked up and winked at Erica, and was surprised to see that her face had gone white, her eyes still wide with alarm…and…guilt? 

Then he registered what Aunt May was saying. "What do you mean, who's cousin Erica. Didn't you talk to her this morning?" He kept an eye on her. She was now standing and looked as if she were about to flee the apartment. "Look, Aunt May, I'll call you back later. Gotta go." Peter hurriedly hung the phone up as he stood to block Erica's exit. That wasn't hard - it was a pretty small apartment. He was angry - he had been duped - now what? 

"Who are you?" Peter asked, his voice hard. 

"Erica Stirling, from New Zealand" she replied shakily. 

"Who are you really? Aunt May had never heard of you. If you're not my relative, what do you want from me?" 

"We are related, but not by blood" Erica almost whispered. 

"What do you mean?" said Peter, approaching her. He had begun to hope that he could lead a normal life, but now he knew he never could. Someone or something would always happen to threaten him because of his past, he was sure. He came nearer to Erica - by God, he would threaten her! 

"What do you mean, 'not by blood'?" he repeated. 

"This!" she exclaimed, and was gone. 

Peter stumbled. She'd moved so fast, where'd she go? And then he saw a movement out the corner of his eye. He spun round, and almost fell over. Erica was clinging to the ceiling like…like… 

Peter's mouth dropped open. "How?" he managed. He almost fell into the chair Erica had been sitting in earlier, tripping over her shoes on the floor. Erica dropped from the ceiling and landed silently and smoothly on the floor. She still looked a little alarmed and scared - and also somewhat relieved. "I was about to tell you when the phone rang" she said.

She walked over to the couch and sat down, elbows on knees, her head in her hands. "I've been trying to find the time… the way to tell you all day."

"But how…?"

"I'm sorry about the relations story Peter, I'm really sorry about that. I hope I haven't hurt you too much, but I really needed to get in contact with you, and as unobtrusively as possible. It was the only way I could think of." She sighed. "I probably stuffed up there, didn't I? Well if you're up to the real story…" 

Peter nodded. He was feeling rather overwhelmed. Somebody with spider powers? _His_ spider powers? 

Erica went on "Two days ago, I was at home, in New Zealand, on my way to go out. All of a sudden I had what felt like a massive headache, worse than a migraine. I remember collapsing next to the car, and blacking out. When I came to again, I was in a park. I felt - very strange. I supposed I had somehow lost my memory when I blacked out, and was still feeling the after effects from it. I wasn't sure how I'd got into the park - or where it was. Then bam! my head was just…exploding again. I jumped up instinctively… but I jumped about three metres easily, and landed…on my feet… away from a guy who had been about to grab me from behind. I don't know who was more shocked, him or me! He grabbed my bag, and ran off with it. I chased him, caught up with him, and somehow avoided a punch he aimed at my head. Um… I kicked him in return…" Erica looked pained. "I don't think he'll be walking properly again for a while… I was terrified. I ran off. I didn't know what had happened to me. I came over a rise and saw… skyscrapers!" 

Erica paused, looked sideways at Peter and gave a watery grin. "I wasn't in Kansas anymore Toto! Heh. Well, I found out I was in New York, Central Park. All I had on me was a few NZ dollars…and a credit card. Well, I…checked into a hotel. Um, yesterday morning I read a newspaper. I was pretty blown away by what I read. Every other page mentioned some super hero, or super villain!" 

She looked at Peter. He looked back, nonplussed. What was so amazing about that? Erica cleared her throat. "Uh, I did some hard thinking. Somehow, I was not only mysteriously in New York, but I was in a different New York. A different world. Where super heroes are normal - well, maybe not normal, but accepted as part of the world. And where I was also incredibly faster and stronger. Um, this may sound silly, but…well I believe that somehow I've been transported into an… alternate world." 

Peter sat up straight. His mind raced - could it be? 

"Go on," he said, "What led you to contact me?"

"Well, yesterday afternoon, I…I…discovered by accident I could stick to walls…" Erica broke off, and Peter could see in her eyes the shock she'd had. 

"I was…still am…pretty freaked out about that. I re-read the paper: 'Big Apple bites Spider-Man'. And I….I had to think. Spider-Man! If he's disappeared, and I'm here, with what appear to be spider powers, did his powers somehow come to me? Did he somehow end up in my world? What's happened?…I don't understand. I'm still, still dazed, I tell you. All this, having to cope with all this... Then yesterday's paper….The Daily Bugle, with a photo attributed to 'Peter Parker'. I knew I had to talk to you! That you could help… maybe." She fell silent. 

In the silence that followed, Peter stirred, said slowly, cautiously, "I don't understand. Why me?"

Erica stood up, paced furiously for a moment and turned to Peter. "Because you are, or were, Spider-Man," she said, very matter of factually. "If you've lost your powers, and I've somehow gained them, maybe we can figure out together what happened, and what we can do about it." 

Peter thought, so many people know or have known my secret identity, it wouldn't be that hard to find out if you were really determined. 

But he said "What makes you think I'm Spider-Man?" 

"Oh come off it!" Erica sounded frustrated. "Do you want to know how I know? Well, in my… alternate world, we don't have real live super heroes running about the place, but we do have fictional super heroes. One of the reasons I was so amazed when I read about them in the papers here, was that they were the same heroes. As I read about. In comics and…stuff. And…" She paused, looked embarrassed.

"Y'know, we have Spider-Man in comics here too - only based on fact; he's no fictional character…"

"Do your comics have _only_ Spider-Man in them?" Erica asked, then went on, not waiting for a reply, "Because ours have Spider-Man _and_ Peter Parker and they're not _that_ far apart that one can't tell what the other's thinking, Mate. Or do I have to spell it out further for you?"

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Wheee! What is Peter's response? How do he and Erica deal with this revelation? Find out next chapter…


	4. An Alternate Spidey?

A/N: And now, the continuing saaaaga of… 

(I'm sure it feels that way to you too!)

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Chapter 4: An Alternate Spidey?

Peter sighed, then got up and got another soda out of the fridge for them both. "Here," he said, handing the can to Erica, "You must be thirsty after that, I know _I_ am." He took a couple of swigs and sat down again. Erica sat on the couch taking sips from her drink. 

Peter sighed again. "Either you've done an incredible amount of research, and then cooked up some story from it all for some reason, or… I've got to believe it's all true. And I think I do, for several reasons, including what I've just seen and heard. But also…" Another swig of his soda. 

He still hesitated. He was feeling almost as shocked and wiped with all the revelations as he had been when he lost his spider powers, and to find them again, but with someone else! He looked hard at her - could he trust her? He had no spider-sense to guide him on this, only his native intuition. _She_ had been scared and nervous, and he felt it wasn't an act. He decided to chance it, admit it, though it was not an easy thing to admit to; he had spent years avoiding it whenever possible.

"At the time you blacked out, I had just lost my powers." He smiled wanly at her. 

"You're right. I am Spider-Man. Or _was_. I had been fighting a villain, a costumed one I hadn't come across before. He had intercepted me as I was swinging across town, and challenged me. Naturally, I didn't want to fight just for the hell of it, but he started to threaten some people. I couldn't let him do that, to hurt innocent bystanders, so I led him away, and was going to… web him up and leave him for the authorities. But…once on a roof-top, he pointed a strange device at me before I could put him down and move… and I… found I had lost all my… abilities. Man! That was a bad moment! He said it was an 'alter-ray', and my spider powers had gone to an alternate universe where there was no such thing as super powers. They were gone forever, he said." 

Erica almost choked on some hastily gulped down soda. "But they weren't!" she exclaimed excitedly. "He stuffed up! That 'alter-ray' must have transported me here. I actually received your powers, because I was from an alternate universe, but because I somehow also got in this one, they worked. _And_ your villain didn't realise that the alternate universe he was sending your powers to had this reality's super heroes as fictionalised ones. I'd heard about Spider-Man and his background and how to contact him!" Erica calmed down. 

"Of course, the stuff up doesn't really help us a heck of a lot, does it?" She looked crestfallen.

"Well, it might…" Peter stopped. "It's getting late and I'm starved. How 'bout that pizza?"

He had to admit to himself that he was feeling better, more hopeful, now he knew the reason why Erica hadn't seemed quite right. Erica's spider-sense must have gone off just before the phone rang - that figured.

"Aunt May! I'd better ring her back. She'll be wondering what the matter was. What am I going to tell her?"

"Would the long lost cousin story do? I mean, it did for you…"

"Yeah. O.K."

"Also… Look, I hate to sponge off you, but…my credit card will reach it's limit pretty quickly if I stay at the hotel. I haven't got anywhere else to stay. If I can't stay here, maybe at your Auntie's...? Just until we sort things out, um, that is."

"Yeah, O.K."

Peter made the call. "That was 'relatively' painless. She wants us to come for dinner tomorrow night, to meet you. Come on, finish your soda and grab your coat. We've got pizza to eat and plans to make after!"

Later, when they had returned to the apartment, Peter told Erica "You can sleep here for tonight - I'll sleep on the couch." They had gone to Erica's hotel before eating, so she could check out, where Peter was able to see for himself that the only extra luggage Erica had was a plastic bag full of brochures.

"Unh-uh," Erica replied shaking her head. "_I'll_ sleep on the couch - I'm not going to turn you out of your bed; you need the sleep more than I do. Besides, I've found I don't need as much sleep as I did, eh."

"Oh. Right…" It was going to take some getting used to. They both sat on the couch; they were a little more at ease with each other, now he knew the whole story. 

"We really need to know more about this 'alter-ray'. What would happen if it was turned on me again? Would I get my powers back, and would you end up back in your own reality?" said Peter, thinking aloud. "If only we could find out more about that villain, find him out somehow; I dunno, pretend to be a newspaper reporter and photographer visiting a mad scientist…mad scientists love publicity… Heck, all scientists love publicity!"

"You think he's a scientist then, and not some goon who's got hold of a piece of fancy gear that fell off the back of a truck? Ha, what sort of a name is 'alter-ray' - pretty dumb, sounds like 50's sci-fi jargon, death-ray stuff." Erica mused.

"Hey, you could be on to something! Not about the criminal, but age-wise. A couple of other things the guy said makes me think he's a lot older. Perhaps he's an older scientist who feels he hasn't received the recognition he deserved, and so has turned to a life of crime…" 

"Nah, too silly. It's as stupid as the idea of gaining super powers by being bitten by a radio-active spider!" Erica covered her mouth with her hand in embarrassment at what she had just said. 

Peter laughed. "So much for speculation - the improbable can sometimes be true, and often is!" He smiled. He looked completely relaxed for the first time that day. "If we have no idea who that villain is, we'll have to flush him out somehow…"

"Show him that Spider-Man still has his powers. That would bring him out. He'd have been so certain his invention couldn't fail, that when it appears it did, he's bound to want to find out what went wrong. I'm sure you can rig something up - you've done it in the past to trick villains."

Peter went absolutely still, his eyes glazed over, in a land of his own. "No…no…" he slowly mumbled, "I couldn't. It _might_ work, but…no, I can't…." He drifted off again.

"What?" said Erica, eventually interrupting his reverie, "What are you thinking of?"

Peter stirred. "I had an idea, but I can't do it, it's too risky. It's _my_ fault you're in this jam. And besides…"

"What? What was it?"

"It involved you being Spider-Man…"

There was a big pause. Erica sucked in her breath, seeing the possibilities, seeing where he was coming from.

"I admit, I'm still scared of these Spider powers…But why not? If you can help me with them, If I've got the abilities…"

"But not the years of experience. And probably not the levels of strength and agility I had either."

"_You_ didn't have any of those when you first became Spider-Man. Besides, I think I have a few advantages even over a nerdy fifteen year old male. Probably at least as strong, more agile, _and_ I have the _knowledge_, and other, different experience…"

"You don't have web-shooters. You don't know how to use web."

"Then show me! That's another advantage - you've _got_ the experience; we can put it to use! And besides…. If it's a possible means of getting back home…it might be my _only_ way home."

"Well…" Peter replied, "We can thrash out the details tomorrow.' He sighed and got up off the couch. "I'm whacked. I'm off to bed. We'll talk more in the morning." He headed to the bedroom and paused by the door. "If there's anything you need, just help yourself."

"I'll be fine." Erica caught the blanket Peter threw. "See ya tomorrow."

Peter woke to singing. Singing? Then he remembered. He hurriedly threw on some clothes and went into the other room, where Erica was frying eggs, flipping them up high and catching them expertly in the pan "…just direct your feet, to the sunny side of the street…" She saw Peter standing there bemused. "Morning! How'd you like your eggs? Sunny side up?" She chuckled.

"Very American, heh!" She seemed a lot brighter this morning. She flipped the eggs onto a couple of plates, handed one to Peter and headed for the little table, which had already been set for breakfast. 

"Uh, thanks. Any coffee?" he said, as he sat down too.

"Sorry mate. I don't drink the stuff - you'll have to make it yourself if you want a decent cup. I make a dreadful brew."

"Uh. O.K." Peter went to the kitchen and went through the automatic process of brewing his coffee. He peered up through the window at the clear sky. "It looks like it'll be another warm day today," he said. "You got any cooler clothes?" 

"No, this is it." Erica was in her jeans and long top again. "I'd say I'd need another change of clothes though; these one's may get a bit pongy…"

"Aah, I guess I'm not one to talk - all those years of wearing long shirt sleeves even through the summers when it was like an open oven out there, because I never knew when I might be needed, when I'd need to be ready instantly." Peter turned from the window, poured his coffee and took it over to the table and plonked himself down. 

"Are you… sad to miss it?" asked Erica, hesitating.

"I'll miss the freedom, the swinging through the city, maybe. I used to think I enjoyed the thrills and action of it all, but now… I dunno, I've had the feeling for years that I was stuck on a carousel I couldn't get off… I won't miss the fighting. I won't miss feeling responsible for all those eight million people out there. I won't miss having all those close to me getting hurt." He finished quietly and started eating. Erica had already polished off her eggs, and was drinking a glass of water. 

"No tea." She smiled. She watched Peter finish his breakfast, then took the plates out to the kitchen and absently started washing up. Peter started on his coffee. 

"Do you want your powers back?" she said. "It sounds as if you're having second thoughts." 

"And third thoughts. I …can't decide. I'll enjoy the break anyway!" he said, trying to sound as if he hoped it would only be that.

"So," said Erica, "What are we doing today? What are we going to do to flush out 'Ray-Man?"

"I thought about that last night." Peter hadn't had a very good night's sleep. Too many of those same thoughts had been whirling around in his head, unsettling him. What of the risks involved? What if in trying to flush out 'Ray-Man', they succeeded in flushing out one of his older, more powerful foes? Would Erica be another to get hurt because of Spider-Man too? She would need careful training if his plan was to succeed… He outlined it to Erica. 

"… and swing around in the same area I last encountered him."

"What! I had more in mind a little masquerade - standing around on a roof-top until he appeared."

"More of a demonstration would be needed. If you just stood there, you could be anybody dressed up in a Spidey costume for the kicks. He needs to believe he's getting the real Spider-Man. That involves training you, and that may take some time."

"I suppose so…" She didn't sound keen on the idea. 

"Come, I've got something to show you." 

He quickly got up and walked into his room, and opened up his closet. He reached into the back, and pulled out something red and blue. He turned and handed it to Erica, who had followed and was just behind him. "Here, it's my Spider-Man costume. A spare. Try it on." He indicated the bathroom with his head as he closed the closet door.

Erica took it quietly at arms length and stared at it. "But…"she started.

"We talked about it last night. Don't say you've changed your mind!" said Peter, leaning back against the closet. 

"No, but it won't fit me. You must be about 5' 9 or 10. I'm only 5' 6-and-a-half. And you're a different shape..."

"Well try it on anyway, and we'll see."

Erica went into the bathroom, closed the door behind her. Peter heard a few muffled mutterings, and then silence. After a while, the door slowly opened, and Erica emerged, looking a bit shy and self-conscious. 

"It's… a bit long in the arms and legs," she commented, "Otherwise, I suppose it fits very well." Peter handed her the gloves, boots and mask. Slowly, she put them on too. "Even the boots fit well; I've got big Kiwi feet." 

Peter looked at her thoughtfully when she had done, then stepped aside and opened up his closet door again. On the inside of the door was a full-length mirror. 

Erica gazed at the sight, tentatively touched the mask, her arm, and the spider in the middle of her chest. Well-defined muscles moved as she did so. She half turned. The large eyes turned in Peter's direction. "I look…sleek and strong!" she whispered in amazement, "I…I look like - Spider-Man!" 

All of a sudden she did a neat back-flip, another leap, and landed on the wall above Peter's bed, facing down and still able to see her reflection in the mirror. "Crikey!!" She leapt back in front of the mirror again. 

"We can shorten the arms and legs a bit," said Peter, "And I'll fit you for the web-shooters as well." 

"The large eyes in the mask are good; lots of peripheral vision."

"I used to have them quite small, but you're right, it's easier with them larger." He grinned. "How does it feel to be Spider-Man?"

"Amazing! Well, perhaps more like Spider-Woman, eh." she murmured. "I don't really think I could pass for a man, even though this is the first time in my life I've been thankful to have an almost non-existent bust!"

"If you're fast, and the light's not good you'll pass. People won't be expecting a woman. They'll see a man. And… um, you know," he continued, eyeing her form critically, "It's not only the bust - you've got broad shoulders as well. You haven't exactly got an overly female figure…" That wasn't the most tactful thing to say… Peter couldn't see her reaction under the mask, but she remained silent. He moved over to his desk, opened a drawer and took something out. "Let's go into the lounge." Erica went ahead of him, not seeming as self-conscious now that she had seen what she looked like, seen herself move as Spider-Man. 

"Sit at the table and take your gloves off." Peter told her. As she did so, he lay the two objects on the table. "These are the web-shooters…" 

"I know how they work in principle," interrupted Erica, "The web fluid is stored in refillable high-pressure cartridges, and the lever requires a double-tap to release the flow."

Peter stared at her. "How do you know that?" Had she bizarrely got his memories along with the costume? He shuddered - no. Not that.

"I read it," she said. 

"Oh. Right."

He scrabbled around until he found a small case of tools. "I've got to adjust the size for you, and make sure the levers sit in the right spot on your palms. He set to work with a small screwdriver and a pair of long-nosed pliers. "There! Let's try them out." He fitted one of the web-shooters onto her right wrist. "You'll soon get used to them being there. Now, aim at the…"

Before he could finish his sentence, there was a 'thwip', and a strand of webbing stretched from Erica to the bedroom door. 

"Heh," said Erica. Peter couldn't see her reaction behind the mask, but guessed she was pleased. 

"You catch on fast, but I guess you already knew the mechanics involved. However, you _will_ need practise aiming and producing different web effects before you're ready. But not inside." He added, as she lifted her hand up again. He handed her the other shooter, and watched her put it on her left wrist, and then replace the gloves and find where the spinnerets went. 

"I want to practise now!" said Erica standing up, "I feel like I need to do something, be active. Can't put a good suit like this to waste!"

Peter felt rather peculiar. He could see how excited Erica was, and was almost…jealous? That someone else had _his_ powers. He quashed it. Did he really want his powers back? Would he be disappointed if their unformed plan didn't work out? 

But he said, "No not now. Not during the day, at least…not yet. I have to go in to work for a short time, and we need to get some food and stuff. Change into your normal clothes. We'll do some training this evening, when it gets dark out." 

Erica's head moved down, the opaque eyes looking at her out-stretched hand, her body once more. Then she nodded and left the room without comment. 

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Cheers 'til next time…


	5. Getting Acquainted

A/N: Feel free to ask any questions, eh. I do have the whole thing outlined and plotted, so I know exactly where the piece is going - unless the characters decide otherwise… 

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Chapter 5: Getting Acquainted.

__

In which Erica gets another job, and some training in the first.

Walking from the subway to the Bugle offices, Peter could see that Erica was striding along, almost with a spring in her step. She was smiling and really looking around, taking things in. He noticed that she looked up more often than a person normally would when walking - of course, with her spidey sense, she wouldn't be in any danger of tripping or collisions, though she probably didn't consciously know that. He guessed she was sussing out the lay of the land, so to speak. Her purse hung loosely on her shoulder. She was so obviously a visitor to New York, in amongst the rest of the workers. He smiled. 

"What are you going to do for money?" he asked her. She looked at him, suddenly brought back to the ground. "You'll be here a while at least, and… I can't really support us both for much longer."

"Oh." said Erica. "I'll have to find a job, I guess, but I don't know how easy that will be - for one thing, do foreigners need a work-permit or visa or some such to get a job in the States?" 

"It might have to be under the table anyway - you don't have a Social Security number or an American bank account. Hmmm…"

"Waiting tables?"

"That'd be no good - look at the hours. What did you do in New Zealand?"

"What did I do for a crust? I trained and work as a librarian. But that's only recent - I was a sailor - I crewed for years on a tall-ship that taught life skills and team work to teenagers, among other things. Not much call for that in New York City, I bet!" 

"Wow." Peter remembered something he had read yesterday while looking at the Bugle's want ads. "I've got an idea. If you don't mind working at the Bugle as well. Our photo library needs a part-time casual assistant. The old one just left. Jameson may be willing to take you on if it means he can pay you the absolute minimum and not worry about health insurance and all the rest. But at least it will be some money. We'll see what a little 'nepotism' can do!"

"Great! If it works." Erica was back to looking at buildings.

Peter introduced Erica as his cousin from New Zealand as he moved through the office. Some people only grunted, others like Joe 'Robbie' Robertson were more welcoming. "New Zealand? Isn't that where The Lord of the Rings movie was filmed?"

"Yeah, that's right. I live not far from Lothlorien and part of Helm's Deep!"

"Well how about that!" Robbie looked interested. But Peter interrupted.

"Is Jolly Jonah in? I need to ask him something."

"Go ahead - but you're not his favourite at the moment."

Peter grimaced, "When was I ever?" grabbed Erica by the arm and pulled her towards an office. 

"Bye, nice meeting you!" she waved to Joe Robertson. He smiled and waved a hand full of papers in return, and then she was through the door.

"Parker!" roared the grizzled man from behind his desk, chomping on the end of a cigar. "Where's that menace Spider-Man? And who's this?" he continued, flicking a glance at Erica. "Not that it matters. Photos - can you bring me photos proving Spider-Man is dead?"

Erica calmly sat down in one of the chairs in front of Jameson's desk, and looked at him curiously. He growled, took the cigar out of his mouth and pointed it at her. "Who do you think you are? Out! Out!!" he shouted.

"Maybe he's just on holiday," she said, crossing her legs. "Perhaps you could put a personal in your paper 'Dear Spidey, having a great time, wish you were here. Please send postcards and photos. Love Jonah'."

Jameson stared at her, mouth open.

Peter also stared at her slightly shocked - how could he ask Jameson for a job for her after that remark? He turned his head back as he heard a strange sound. What?

Jameson was laughing. He had his head flung back and was in danger of tipping backwards out of his chair with the laughter. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter could see people staring into the office in surprise. Slowly, Jameson recovered himself. Then he scowled at Erica.

"Whaddya want?"

"A job," she replied. Peter jumped in to explain.

"Grrr. Alright. Don't think I'm getting soft though. Now, get out! And Parker! Find me Spider-Man, dead or alive!"

They exited hurriedly. 

"Whew," said Peter, "I thought you were dead meat there for a while. What got into you?"

"I thought a bit of humour would put him in a good mood - I knew it wouldn't do any harm with the mood he was in when we went in there."

"Oh, that's just Jameson. You get used to it." 

"Yes, I know." 

This could get a bit spooky, thought Peter. What else does she know? She's a strange mix of knowingness and naivety. 

Erica spent the rest of the morning getting acquainted with her new job. Peter needed time to think. He headed for the darkroom, where he knew he wouldn't be interrupted. Automatically he checked the rolls of film to be developed and the negatives to be printed, and started mixing the chemical baths. As he worked, he wondered how he could resolve how he felt about the loss of his powers at the same time as helping someone else come to terms with acquiring them. Guilt he could handle, he was used to it; jealousy…'I'm going to have to find some middle ground, too dangerous else.'

When they met up for lunch, Peter was glad to find out that Erica's hours were flexible; the duties mainly consisting of classification and filing of photos, with only a few non-urgent research queries to be answered. "Easy-peasy," said Erica.

"Well, you won't get much for it."

"As long as it's enough to chip in for food and rent, that's all I need. Maybe a new outfit too, eh," she said, looking down at her clothes. She looked up at Peter, smiling. "New smalls, and a pair of jeans at the least. I can probably borrow your shirts?"

"Why not? It'll only be for a short time." They were eating at the coffee shop around the corner again, that was Peter's regular haunt. 

"So, what are we doing this afternoon?"

"Shopping. Clothes for you, and groceries."

"That's cool, as long as I don't thrash the plastic too much." 

Peter thought about the afternoon. As a shopper, Erica didn't muck around and seemed to have no trouble figuring what was a good price; she said converting NZ dollars to US in her head was easy given the exchange rate, she was glad it wasn't anything tricky. She paid for her new clothes with her credit card - the 'plastic' she wasn't keen to thrash earlier. They also visited the Rockefeller Plaza, where Peter picked up a few informational books on New York City at a specialist book store.

"You need to get more familiar with New York City" said Peter, "You'll be travelling around it a fair bit."

"Some of it seems so familiar already - all those movies and TV shows, I guess." 

"It's a big city," warned Peter.

Back at the apartment, there was a message on the answer-phone from Aunt May, formally inviting them to dinner that evening. "We'd better go, she'll want to meet you. I hope you've got your story ready." 

"Sure," replied Erica.

"I don't think with this Spider-Man business and all, that you can stay at Aunt May's. It will have to be here."

"Sorry about that, about invading your privacy," said Erica, "You must be very used to it, and now you have a stranger dossing down in your living room." 

"Well, you know, it doesn't matter now I'm not Spider-Man."

"Don't be pathetic - of course you miss it." She grinned, to show there was no offence intended. "Well, I'm only your flatmate... what do you call it when friends live in the same apartment; room-mate? That's what we are for a short time."

Peter was wondered how he felt about that. Sure, some of it was that his privacy was gone, but also the very strangeness of the situation. Erica seemed confident now, happy, as if she didn't really have a care about anything.

Erica was unpacking the groceries. "I'll put the kettle on. Perhaps you can show me how you make your coffee?" 

She touched his arm as he came into the kitchen. "I'm sorry Pete" she said. And then seemingly able to read his mind, she continued, "I dunno… somehow in trying on the Spider-Man costume, I've…gained more confidence. I'm not as scared now as I was. You must admit it's exciting for me - you've been through this, you must have been a show-off for a while."

"You won't be disappointed to give it up and go home?"

"Yes of course, but I know I'm only a temporary guardian for your powers. That's one reason I'm enjoying it all while I can." She opened up the fridge, started putting food on the shelves. 

Peter watched her and sighed. It was weird having another woman staying with him, to be with each other for large amounts of time. He hoped that this would be over soon and Erica would be gone. The only other woman he wanted to live closely with - closer actually, was Mary-Jane. He missed her. They hadn't really spoken to each other over the last week. He still hadn't taken the chance to tell her that he was no longer Spider-Man, he wasn't even sure she would have heard the rumours in the media. Perhaps at a certain level he was putting it off, afraid of M-J's reaction. What if it wasn't enough of an incentive for her to come back to him? Could he live with that? He could be Spider-Man and be as he was, or not be Spider-Man and be with Mary-Jane. This was his opportunity…if he wanted to take it. Or… was he just dreaming…

"Yes…while you can." 

He must have looked sad. Erica looked startled and then asked sympathetically, "Are you all right? Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. It's nothing. It's personal…" He had sounded harsher than he meant to.

Erica looked down at her hands, a pained expression on her face. "Sorry again," she said, "it's just that…reading about you I feel I know you already…I forget that you aren't just fictional anymore." The kettle whistled, steam hissing into the air. "Here, the coffee." She stood aside, leaning against the counter as she watched Peter. He measured beans into the old striped ceramic coffee grinder attached to the wall, gave a good few turns of the handle and tipped the grounds into the coffee perc. Together they watched the water splatter and spit against the glass lid.

Peter said "There's something I wanted to ask you too - you're so confident today, and it's not just from trying on the Spidey-suit. How come you were so nervous yesterday?'

"Mate! Are you kidding? Apart from anything else, there I was, about to meet a character I'd grown up with, a fictional character come alive. How would you be?"

"Depends on the character. But yeah, _I'd_ be nervous meeting Spider-Man. He's some scary dude!" They laughed, any tension between them gone. 

Erica made a cup of tea for herself and they took their drinks over to the couch and sat chatting about fiction and books in general. Erica was widely read, and they found out they shared a few favourites; Peter would jump up and snatch a volume from his book-case to show Erica. He'd almost forgot what it was like to share an interest with a friend. A friend…

"Good Lord, is that the time?" Erica caught sight of the clock above the table and jumped up. "I'm going to have a shower before we go to your Aunt's…change into my clean clothes."

"Good idea. Umm…wear the costume under. Put your street clothes on over the Spidey costume, and tuck the mask and gloves away. The web-shooters can be pushed further up your arms out of view. If we leave earlier, then as soon as it's dark you can try them out. Maybe you'll be practised enough to try a spot of web-swinging on our way back after dinner."

"All righty!"

On the roof of an empty brownstone building stood two figures. They were hard to make out in the gloom - no lights shone upon their presence from street lamps or neighbouring buildings. Peter was guiding Erica in the art of shooting web. She was still in civvies - Peter was confident they wouldn't be seen, and just to be sure, had reminded Erica to keep an 'ear' out for her spider sense; it would alert her if there were any danger. 

"Perhaps you can start by aiming web at the water tower from here." He pointed to the structure at the other side of the roof. "Try to get a good strong line." 

She lifted an arm and aimed at the tank. 'thwip'. A thin line stuck to the middle of it. "Good! Try again." 'thwip'. "And again." 'thwip, thwip.' Peter kept Erica at it for about ten minutes; he needed to see that her aim was consistent. "Well, that's marvellous aim with your left hand - did you used to play ball?"

"No…"

"Umm, well….try the other hand now." 

'thwip'. A string of web drifted out into the night. "Hmm, you must be left-handed. I hadn't noticed. Try again." 'thwip'. "Better," as it hit the edge of the tank. "Again and again." 'thwip, thwip, thwip'. All hit the centre.

"…But I got pretty good at darts, had to be, playing down below in a ship under sail. Told you I had some skills!" She smiled almost mischievously at him. Peter grunted in response, "Ten more minutes, then we'd better get going," he said, looking at the watch on his wrist. Erica wasn't able to wear hers and the shooters as well, so she had given it to Peter to use. He found it a novelty being able to tell the time when he wanted to; Erica had even suggested he could get a cell-phone if he wanted one, now he had pockets at all times. "Crud," he'd replied, "Who'd call me?" But it was a nice thought all the same.

Erica let off a few more web lines, this time practising varying the thickness, before Peter called her over and pointed to the spinneret on one of the shooters. "You can adjust this to get different forms of webbing. It might be an idea to try some of them out - nets, balls etc. I know you're only going to be swinging around a bit, but all the same…" 

He demonstrated with his hands and wrists how to do them. Erica copied, with mixed results. "Humph - better not waste any more web-fluid, not with the price of it nowadays!" He wasn't entirely joking either. "C'mon," he told her, "we don't want to be late for dinner!"

"Taskmaster _and_ timekeeper," Erica grumbled humorously at him, as they clambered back down the rusty fire escape at the side of the brownstone. Peter grinned.

"You'll do," he said.

***************************

Next: A little action at last!


	6. Following

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****

Chapter 6: Following

Peter and Erica walked up to the front door of a house in a street of nearly identical houses; it was neater than some, but it also looked as if it hadn't changed in forty years. "Wait till you see inside," Peter whispered as he knocked. The door was opened by a thin elderly lady, wearing an old floral house dress over a track-pant outfit. Her eyes lit up when she saw Peter. "Peter!" she cried, and reached up to give him a peck on the cheek. He gave her a quick hug and a kiss in return. 

"You must be Erica!" she said, and Erica found herself in a quick embrace as well. "Come inside, both of you, out of the chill air." She bustled them both through. 

"How exciting for Peter to have a long lost cousin!" Aunt May exclaimed, as she fussed over them, "And all the way from the other side of the world!" Erica was led directly into the living area. It was as if she'd stepped back in time. Olive green walls set off a couch and a couple of easy chairs upholstered in an orange and white abstract fabric. White antimacassars covered the chair backs and arms, and cushions were placed symmetrically on either end of the couch. Erica sat down gingerly. In front of her was a wood-grain formica coffee table on thin wire legs, and in the corner was a big TV in an old cabinet, with a vase of flowers, roses, on top. Curtains matching the upholstery were closed against the darkening evening. Peter winked at Erica, amused at her astonishment. 

"Where are you staying?" Aunt May was saying, "You're welcome to stay here you know."

"I'm in a small hotel quite close to where Peter lives. It's convenient for me at the moment, but thanks for your offer."

"Well, it's an open offer if you need a change. Now, tell me more about your family." Aunt May sat upright in one of the easy chairs. 

"I'm afraid I don't have a lot of details about the family, apart from my immediate family that is," said Erica, "Time and distance has made them hard to find out much about them."

"Ben may have been able to tell us more, but even he didn't know that much about Mary's family." She sighed. "I'm fixing the last bit of dinner, It'll be ready soon. Do you want to freshen up? I'm sure you'd also love to see Peter's old room - Peter, take her upstairs and show her. But don't be too long!"

"Can I help?" offered Erica. There was the smell of a casserole coming from the kitchen.

"No, no. Go on with you." She fluttered her hands at them. Peter gave his Aunt a smile of affection.

"This way," he said. Upstairs he paused outside a dark door. "Aunt May loves her independence." Then pushing open the door, he proclaimed "Welcome to the childhood sanctuary!" Erica moved inside in wonder. It really was a shrine to childhood. All of Peter's school awards were framed and hung on the blue walls. Artwork and obviously amateur photography filled the spaces the awards didn't. On shelves along one wall were books and models that Peter had made. They were mostly scientific models - dodecahedrons and working electrical circuits and the like. A small desk was under the window. It too was covered with books, models and photos. The single bed had a candlewick bedspread, and neatly folded down sheets. 

"I don't know what to say!" said Erica.

"Aunt May keeps it this way so that I can have somewhere to stay if I need to. But really, I think she still likes to show all my past achievements off to visitors!"

Erica giggled. "You're lucky. My mum threw out most of my childhood stuff when I left home. I didn't have a say in what she chucked." She glanced wickedly at Peter, "I was devastated. All my drawings, my exercise books of stories, my Spider-Man comics…" 

"Come on," he grinned. "Mustn't keep dinner waiting…"

Erica saw the dining table had been set with what must have been the best crockery. As she sat down, Aunt May came in with a casserole dish and laid it on a scenic place mat in the centre of the table. Already set out on other mats were side dishes of beans, carrots and baked potatoes. The glass ware and cutlery sparkled. "Oh, you needn't have gone to so much trouble!"

"Nonsense," Aunt May replied, "No trouble at all. Peter, if you could say the grace please."

During dinner, Erica had to answer many questions about her family, and about her country. Peter mostly let Aunt May do the talking for him. She was used to that - she still thought of her nephew as the painfully shy boy he had been. But it was interesting to hear a bit of Erica's background, and growing up in a different culture to his own. 

"…My father used to love fishing - he spent loads of time away at weekends off fishing. The few trips he took me on were a disaster - I wasn't interested at all. I don't think he really understood I actually _liked_ having my head in a book! Though I did end up liking the sea…" She was telling about her real family, he was sure; it was just that there wasn't a connection further back to his own. "…day tramps in the Orongorongos, but 4WD's even manage to zoom around there!"

"Isn't that just fascinating Peter?" Aunt May asked him, "Fancy being able to travel less than twenty minutes from a city and be able to walk through farmland and woods!"

After dinner, Peter insisted that he and Erica would wash up. "You've done enough Aunt May for this evening - you go and put your feet up." He ushered her into the lounge into one of the easy chairs, where she promptly took some knitting from a bag by the side and set to work. "Good girl," he smiled, and went back to the kitchen. As they finished the dishes, Peter put some coffee on to brew. "I don't think Aunt May has any tea," he said apologetically.

"That's O.K, but I don't think I'll have any coffee if that's all the same. I'm starting to get buzzy enough without it!" Erica grinned. Peter could sense her excitement now that the evening was almost over. He knew that Aunt May would like to talk for a quite a while, but he thought he could make their excuses before too long - the journey back downtown, and so on...

Erica gave Aunt May a hug. "Thank you so much for the lovely welcome and the delicious meal. I really appreciated it."

"My dear,' said Aunt May, as they were about to leave, "I'm just happy to know that Peter has some family at last. I'm not getting any younger you know… You take good care of her now, Peter!"

A few yards down the road, Erica groaned. "Ohh, I really do feel guilty about making up that story about being family. Poor Aunt May. I hope I don't hurt her feelings too much when…"

"She had a lovely evening, and she needn't know the truth,." interrupted Peter. "I've become quite adept at telling tales myself; I'll work something out." It was dark out now. Peter said "We'll catch a bus closer to the city - it's a long way to walk, or even swing that far."

"Whatever you say," replied Erica. 

A while later they alighted from the bus, at a point still in Queens. "This is far out enough - it's quiet and the buildings aren't so high." They walked a block over and along until they reached an alley way. 

"I'll wait for you here," he said. Erica slipped silently into the deeper shadows. Soon after, an arm appeared around the corner, holding out a carrier bag to Peter. He took it bemusedly, and moved to look around the corner. Nobody there. He grinned, and looked up. Two large white eyes glinted at him just inches above his head. The figure in the shadows was clinging upside-down on the brick wall. Suddenly it turned and with a fluid motion crawled rapidly up the wall of the building until it reached the top. Then it leapt and disappeared. Peter glanced around, what was she up to? He kept looking up at the gap where the sky showed, waiting for her to come down again. 

There was a tap on his shoulder. 

"Eep!" He jumped and whirled around. Spider-Man was standing there. "Jeez!" Don't _do_ that!" Peter exclaimed. He felt that behind the mask, Erica was laughing at him. "O.K, so I'm _so_ not used to being sneaked up on!" He leant against the wall and took a deep breath. He could see that Spider-Man (Woman?) wasn't even breathing hard. 

"You did well. Now for web-slinging practise. Can you carry me up to the roof of this building?"

"Piggy-back?' She hitched Peter on her back. "Hang on!" and climbed the building just as rapidly as she had the first time. She didn't even seem to notice her extra burden. Peter clung tightly to the carrier bag until they reached the roof top where Erica set Peter gently down. Peter thought that if she were to impersonate him, he should get used to thinking of her as Spidey, regardless of the fact she was the wrong gender. She certainly seemed to have overcome any fear she had about the wall-crawling. He supposed it was partly the costume; _being_ Spider-Man.

"All right then…" muttered Peter as he scanned the roof and the surrounding buildings. "Web-slinging is a mix of practise and instinct. The instinct for equilibrium comes with the job; practise is practise. But seeing you in action so far, I think you'll need less than I did starting out. It's like… an exaggerated swinging on a child's jungle gym. You should be fine… though it might be a little…unsettling…to begin with." He paused.

"I think I'm willing to give it a go now," she said.

Peter had to agree; if she thought she was ready, she was ready. He was nervous on her behalf, remembering his first real attempt at web-swinging. Was he more nervous than she? It certainly appeared that way. Peter pointed out the streets surrounding a large block of buildings. "Take your time. Once around the block and back!" he said. 

Spidey stepped confidently to the edge, hopped up onto the ridge and paused to turn to Peter and give him the thumbs up. Then she jumped and was gone. Peter ran over to the side and looked down the street. Already she was flinging out a second web-line, and anticipating the end of the arc of her swing for the next one. He sucked his breath in, in awe at how amazingly she was handling the web-slinging already. A bit jerky, but... Then she disappeared from view. Peter settled down, his back against the ridge, to wait.

He didn't have to wait long. He saw a dim red and blue figure appear over the edge, turn a somersault and land, crouched, a couple of yards away. Peter got to his feet as Spidey did. He went up to her as she stood, waiting, silent. They eyed each other. 

"Wheeeee!" All of a sudden, Spidey gave a huge leap, did another somersault. "That was cool fun! I'm absolutely stoked!" She laughed, delighted.

Peter grinned and laughed with her. She was almost jumping up and down in her excitement. "Whoa, calm down! You did brilliantly!" 

"Thanks."

"How…?"

"Remember? I used to crew on a tall ship. I'm used to handling ropes from heights."

Peter pretended to be aggrieved. "Ropes? Ropes? Sheesh, next you'll be wanting to dress in bell-bottoms and call yourself 'Super Sailor'."

Spidey giggled - a very un-Spidey like sound. "What now?"

He reached into a pocket and brought out a small object which he showed to Spidey. It looked a little like some child's trinket sitting there on his palm, a tiddley-wink with legs. "See this?" 

Spidey leaned in for a closer look. "Is that… is it a spider-tracer?" she asked. 

"Ah, yeah." Peter was a bit startled - she'd done it again, showing a knowledge that only a very few people knew. "Once I activate it, you'll be able to home in on it from anywhere by using your spider sense. I thought it might be useful tonight for a couple of reasons; good practise for you, using a different aspect of the spider sense, and well, so you don't get lost!" He turned the device over, pressed something on the underside, and put it back in his pocket. He looked up to see Spidey with her head on one side. Peter was certain that if he'd been able to see under the mask, Erica's face would have had a abstracted expression of concentration on it. 

Presently she spoke. "I can feel a… a buzzing. Not like a warning of danger, more just _there_ if you know what I mean."

Peter nodded. "You'll find it changes as I move away from you. Like 'hot and cold'. Rely on your spider-sense to guide you and you'll be fine."

As he was speaking, Spidey had been moving to the other side of the rooftop, experimenting, and now she came back to where he was standing . 

"I see," she said. "It's quite different actually experiencing it. Weird. Where do we go from here?"

"I'm going to catch a bus home. You can follow the bus, meet me when I get off." He glanced at the edge of the building. "I'll need a lift down first though."

"Sure thing!" And as soon as Peter bent to pick up the carrier bag again, Spidey grabbed him by the waist and jumped off down into the gap above the alley. Peter closed his eyes in shock at the suddenness, but Spidey raised an arm, and they were gently reaching the ground on a strand of web. "Does the bus go over the bridge or through the tunnel? It'll make a difference." asked Spidey.

"The bridge." replied Peter. "You've been studying up already?" He didn't wait for an answer, but turned towards the street. "See you later," he said, and when he glanced back a moment later, she was gone. 

He walked to the bus stop, and once there, checked the time on his watch. Good, not long to wait for the next bus. He reflected on the night so far. It was an odd thought to think he was being watched over on the trip back to the apartment - like having a guardian angel.

"Heh." He chuckled quietly to himself. There weren't many people about, and the traffic was normal. He'd better watch out for the bus - it might pass by else. Sure enough, it would have passed if he hadn't stepped closer to the curb. A couple got off, and once on, Peter walked to the back of the bus to take a seat. As the bus started off, Peter twisted around to look out the back window. He could see no sign of Spidey. 

He sat back, with the carrier bag between his knees. Erica's clothes. He wished he had brought a book with him, but he hadn't thought of it. He'd forgot how deathly public transport could be. He looked around at the other passengers on the bus. Some were reading, some listening to music and others, like him, staring into space. He read the advertisements and then the bus notices in desperation. As they neared the approaches to the Queensboro bridge, he again twisted around to look out the back. No Spidey. Peter hoped she hadn't got lost, or got into trouble of some sort. There was nothing he could do if she had. He supposed this was what it felt like being a parent, and seeing your child go off on his own. He smiled to himself; some child! 

The bus rumbled on in the night. Peter tried glancing out the windows every time the bus stopped, but had to admit the view out of them was limited. As they neared Midtown, and his stop, he heard an almost indefinable thud above his head. He sighed in relief and relaxed. Only then did he realise how tense he'd been. 

Getting off the bus, he pointedly avoided looking back at it, and started walking slowly down the sidewalk; about a block later, he wondered where Spidey was. He was passing some store doorways, when out of the shadows in front of him, a figure stepped out. For a moment, he thought it was her, but a second later he saw the streetlight glinting off the blade of a knife, and saw that the figure was much larger and bulkier. He felt no fear; he had dealt with tougher guys than this. But when the mugger came near, the knife pointed towards Peter's eyes, he quelled slightly. 

"Give me the bag!" The mugger demanded as he thrust the knife closer. Peter instinctively stepped back. 

"Hey, big guy!" a voice called. And when both Peter and the mugger turned to look, another figure appeared suddenly out of the darkness. This one though, came out of the sky, and landed clinging to the nearby lamppost. 

"Why don't ya pick on someone smaller?" With that, Spidey leapt off the lamppost and landed directly between the mugger and Peter. In a movement almost too fast to be seen, the web-slinger snatched the knife off the mugger, broke the blade in two, "What, no snappy remarks?" and threw the remains with accuracy into a garbage can a couple of yards away without even looking. 

Peter tried not to laugh at the expression of pure disbelief on the mugger's face; the top of Spidey's head only came up to the mugger's shoulders, and yet the guy's expression changed to one of terror, and he turned to flee. Spidey jumped and flipped right in the path of the fleeing man. 

"Come on, give me a chance!" pleaded Spidey, and as the panic-stricken mugger tried to push past, she quickly struck out lightly with her fist and downed him. As Peter ran up, Spidey looked down at the crumpled form at her feet. "Now what?" she whispered, "What do you do with them once they're… subdued?" 

Peter gave the man a little shove with his shoe. "This one I'd just leave. He was so terrified, it'll be a long time till he pulls a stunt like that again. If they're not so subdued, then web 'em and leave them for the authorities. " He paused and looked at Spidey. "Thanks. I was almost in trouble there."

"No problem, but I think you _were_ in trouble."

"Heh. As a native New-Yorker, my next step would've been to give the bag to the mugger like he wanted. He would've run off. But I was about to try and disarm him… like I used to…"

"Just as well I stepped in then,' she said in mock horror, "You would've given my clothes away!" She stopped and was momentarily very still. "I gotta go", she said quickly, "See you back at the flat." And with that Spidey leapt away, flinging a web in front of her as she went. Peter watched her go, 'flat' what? and then heard the sound of feet running up behind him. 

"Hey man, are you all right?" A couple of men came up, and looked curiously at Peter, and then at the recumbent mugger on the sidewalk.

"Yeah, I'm O.K."

"Wow, was that Spider-Man? I thought he was dead or something," said the other, "What did he say to you?"

"He told me to keep out of trouble," replied Peter, bursting into laughter.

Peter let himself into his apartment a few minutes later. He found Erica already there, still in costume, though she had taken the mask off. She ran her fingers through her hair when she saw him, saying almost too brightly "Didn't you ever suffer from hood-hair?" Peter dropped the carrier bag on the floor and shook his head as he sank onto the couch. He felt drained somehow. Seeing Erica in action had been a mix of pride, possessiveness and…yep, jealousy still. Erica picked the bag up and put it on the table. "Just as well the window was open - you must've got into that habit." She peeled off the gloves and laid them on the table next to the mask already there. 

She glanced at the web-shooters now exposed on her wrists. "You're right, I do need to practise. I put you in danger having to disarm that guy manually. I should have been able to web the knife away, but I knew I only had one chance, and I didn't want to risk missing - buildings are much larger and easier targets!"

"Never mind, it worked out, you did well," said Peter from the depths of the couch. He lifted himself up just enough to get at his pocket and pull out the active tracer. "How'd it go with the tracer?" he asked, as he disengaged the battery. He watched her remove the shooters. 

"I didn't lose you. I even took a few detours to try it out further. Kinda weird though, having that as a constant background 'noise'." She laid the shooters on the table too.

Peter tossed the tracer at her, which she deftly caught and placed it with the rest of her costume's accessories. Peter remembered something odd that had been niggling at the back of his mind the last few minutes. "It's only struck me - your voice… was different there."

"Of course it was. I consciously disguised it - lowered it _and_ tried to put on an American accent. Did I sound like you?"

"Hmmph. Better check the web shooters - check them periodically when you're using them, and make a habit of it when you take them off. That LED there warns you if you're running out of web fluid." 

Erica checked them. "How do you fill them?" 

"I've devised a way… which reminds me, I'd probably better make up some more fluid, since I haven't needed to recently. But I think I'll do that tomorrow. It's late, and I'm bushed." He hauled himself up out of the couch and headed for his room. He turned to look at Erica, who was standing there with one hand on the table. "Thanks," he said, and closed the door behind him. Erica studied the closed door for a minute, then shrugged. She supposed she better follow Peter's example. She glanced at the web shooters by her hand. A minute later, she was gone. 

Next morning, Peter was up early. He was in a better frame of mind this morning, cheerful even. Last night, he had had very mixed feelings about Erica as Spider-Man. He knew he had offered to train her, but it felt almost as if she were taking over a part of him that had been a part of all his adult life. He realised that it would be extremely difficult to walk away from his life as Spider-Man…if he wanted to. He wasn't sure about it at all. This morning he woke resolved to help as best he could - who knows, he may even be training his successor. 

As early as it was, Erica was already up. She had put the coffee on, and was pouring a cup for him as he walked blinking into the living area. "Here", she said passing him the cup "I can see you're not human until you've had your morning cup."

He smiled at her. "My only vice," he said.

"Yeah, right." She smiled back. Peter thought she was more subdued this morning - not hard after her elation last night. He sipped his coffee thoughtfully, as he went over to the window to check on the weather. Overcast. Probably rain later. He saw Erica had laid out a couple of bowls on the counter, and had the cereal box out. She picked up the cup of tea she had made for herself.

"Eurgh!" Erica shuddered. Peter looked round in surprise, prepared to spring into action if needed, but couldn't see anything wrong.

"Cockroaches!" exclaimed Erica, shuddering again. "Dirty great big ones!"

Peter was relieved. "Is that all? Don't you have roaches in New Zealand?"

"Yeah, but not that big. I hate 'em!"

"What about spiders?" teased Peter straight-faced.

"Oh, they're O.K." she replied off-handedly. Peter wasn't certain if she was teasing him in return, but her next remark made it plain she was.

"In fact, I have rather a liking for spiders…" she grinned, "Wetas, now... if you came to New Zealand, I'd be able to show you a few wetas - they'd freak you out, as much as the cockroaches freak me." 

"I bet."

As she took her cup of tea over to the small table, he poured cereal into the bowls, added milk and grabbed a couple of spoons, then took their breakfast over to the table and set the bowls down. 

"Not as fancy as your breakfast yesterday, but sure to give the long-lasting energy burst of pure carbohydrates!" he said as he sat down in the other chair. He noticed that the bits of the Spider-Man costume were no longer on the table.

"I thought your favourite breakfast was wheat-cakes."

"Wheat-cakes!" exclaimed Peter, "Only Aunt May feeds me those. I can't stand them, but I'll eat them for her."

"Masochist. Ah, well I guess the comic books don't know _everything_ then." Erica concentrated on finishing her breakfast, avoiding Peter's eye. He watched her, trying to gauge what it was about her that unsettled him. It couldn't just be the Spider-Man deal; there was something about _her_. He drank his coffee, then started on his cereal, still wondering. The odd snippets she knew about him? Or was it…was she still holding something back…?

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Next: A good chat, and a couple of unexpected meetings.


	7. Two Meetings and A Chat

A/N: This is coming along well, even if I _do_ say so myself… What do you think?

Cheers,

Apteryx

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Chapter 7: Two Meetings and A Chat.

It was funny how close terror and exhilaration were. Erica had never thought about it before. She hadn't needed to; she normally wasn't the sort who went in for extreme adventure sports. Sailing was the closest she'd been to that sort of high before - heck, she hadn't even bungy jumped. Rushes of adrenaline usually made her feel sick, not high. Last night though, she was sure she felt both at once. 

Erica started flipping through the pile of photographs to be filed. Spider-Man. This must be one of the last shots Peter had taken of himself as his alter-ego. Erica studied it closely. How could anyone mistake her for the real thing? She doubted whether the plan would work. She really would have to be fast and silent, though the silence could work against her; not a typical Spidey trait. 

And she would have to hope like anything that one of the more powerful villains didn't show up. Common thugs she thought she could deal with. Maybe. She knew she'd be out of her depth if a fight became more involved. She sighed, and started typing out classification labels on the computer. She was very glad that Peter was around to help her, and she _had_ agreed to become Spider-Man for a while, and it was true that _being_ Spider-Man was helping her to come to terms with her powers, but…did she really want the rest of what was involved in being Spider-Man? 

Yeah, it was fun jumping and web-swinging and possibly even wall-crawling, but the fighting aspect… Erica could still hear in her mind the sickening crunch of bones breaking in the leg of that mugger in Central Park. She continued to feel guilty about that, and she knew that in being Spider-Man and stopping criminals it would involve fighting that may result in more injury and perhaps even, inadvertently, death. How much force was justified? Sure, they were 'bad guys' but would using excessive force put her on a par with them? Spider-Man really was _that_ close to being a vigilante - she didn't think she could be the same. She knew the real Spider-Man was able to temper the force he used in fighting, and she did so herself last night, but if she forgot herself… She'd have to ask Peter how he was able to restrain himself - was it _only_ conscience? She somehow suspected it was.

She printed out the labels and stuck them on the photos. She then picked up the pile she'd sorted and went over to the cabinets and began opening drawers and dropping the photographs in the correct dividers. She looked up at the clock on the wall, hoping it was near lunch already, she wanted to go and buy a small backpack - carrier bags were not the solution. Close enough to lunch time. Erica finished her task and quickly left the building. She had agreed to meet Peter for lunch at the 'local' café later, but not only did she want to get a backpack first, she wanted to try web-slinging in daylight. It was risky, and she knew Peter wouldn't approve, but she had to do it - had to make herself do it, else she'd lose the nerve. She was sure things would be very different as Spider-Man during the day. It would create exposure for Spider-Man too, possibly a good thing. 

A short time later saw Spidey flinging herself at the end of web-lines through Midtown's glass and stone canyons. She knew how high up she was, but it didn't bother her; the equilibrium she'd gained and her spider-sense, seemed to act as an invisible safety net. She decided on a whim to head further west; why not explore a different part of the city? She could see the traffic and the crowds beneath her as she travelled. Not many looked up. As she got further west, the height of the buildings got lower, and she was closer to the ground…and people. She'd catch the sight of an individual here and there who'd see her swinging. Spidey waved and turned upside down for a space, or executed a little somersault before flinging out another line. Showing off. _That_ should get me noticed, she thought. 

She flipped up onto the roof of an apartment building and paused there. I'd better check my web-fluid levels - I've got to have enough to get back as well. She quickly and unobtrusively did so, and was relieved to find they were O.K., though Peter would definitely have to mix up some more. 

She moved to the other side of the roof top, preparing to take off again, aware that she had to be back in time for lunch, when her spider-sense went off. This time it was warning her someone else had joined her on the roof. If only it wasn't 'Ray-Man' - it was too soon. She hoped she hadn't just stuffed up their chance! She did a fast leap-and-turn in mid air as she was thinking, and landed ready to leap again if need be, but when she saw who it was coming up behind her, she relaxed and stood upright. She faced a man dressed entirely in a fitting red costume. Only his lower face was visible. She waited for him to speak. 

"You're not Spider-Man." The statement was almost a question. He had sensed her relax, and was puzzled.

"Well, no…and yes." replied Spidey. Her spider-sense was still active, but even so she wasn't prepared when Daredevil rushed at her and pushed her up against the side of the roof exit. She was dwarfed by this large man, and while she knew she was stronger than him and could easily defeat him if she wished, she still felt threatened and scared. 

"Who are you? What have you done with Spider-Man?" growled Daredevil. 

"Look," she almost squeaked, "You may be the 'Man without Fear', but I'm not! Let go of me, and I'll tell you!" Daredevil hesitated but continued to hold her against the wall. She sighed, then slowly and gently placed her hands around Daredevil's upper arms, and just as slowly and gently picked him up and placed him on his feet away from her. She let go, and leaning against the wall, 'sat' on it with her feet off the ground. Her spidey-sense had died down and gone. Daredevil looked less grim, but waited silently for her to begin speaking. 

"He knows about me - he's training me. Something happened, and I gained his powers when he lost them…" She looked at Daredevil for his response. She started to understand just how unnerving a masked superhero could be to people - blimey, Spider-Man must be the same… or worse with those huge opaque eyes.

Daredevil continued his silent regard of her - she felt that he was using other senses in assessing her. Finally, he too relaxed. "Don't tell me who you are," he said, "but please tell me; is Spider-Man all right?"

"Yes, yes he is. We're working together to solve…our little problem." She hopped lightly off the wall.

"If he needs help, tell him he can call on me. Give my regards to him."

"Yes Matt, I will" And she flipped to the edge of the roof, and leapt off. "Cheerio!" she called, as she webbed away. She grinned at the brief sight she'd had of him, still standing there, with a look of total astonishment on the half of his face she could see. Then she concentrated on getting back Midtown as quickly as she could. She bet she was late for lunch.

As she swung, she thought about the meeting - the fear she'd felt. Daredevil was one of Spidey's _friends_ for God's sake, and she'd been scared. What if she met one of his enemies? Being scared hadn't stopped her acting yet, but she was not sure it would always be that way. Oh yeah, 'feel the fear and do it anyway', but did that apply to superheroes?

Erica raced to the café, her almost empty backpack bouncing against her back as she ran. She was careful not to go too fast - she had to be aware of that now. She flung herself into the vacant chair opposite Peter. "Sorry I'm late!" she apologised. She wasn't puffed at all, but she could feel the heat rising in her face, and not from the exertion either. 

Peter paused with his coffee cup wavering by his chin, his hazel eyes narrowing as he looked steadily at Erica. He took a sip, put his cup back on the table and said mildly, "Have a good time?"

Erica grinned. "Matt Murdock sends his regards," she said.

Peter's face twitched. "Well, that's nice of him. Did you two have a good talk?" he teased her, straight-faced.

"Uh, there wasn't much conversation involved."

"Heh." Erica could see that Peter was amused - he probably had a fairly accurate picture of the encounter. Erica was glad he was taking it so well; she almost expected him to treat her as an errant child. She didn't think it was because they were in a public place either. She knew he wouldn't believe any excuses - he knew them all by now! Perhaps he knew she had to find her own way as well. She could rely on him to help - if he saw she needed it.

"Um, do you have any change? I need a cuppa. Have you eaten?"

"No, I was waiting for you…Don't worry," he continued seeing the expression of contrition on her face, "I haven't been here long. Honestly!"

After they had eaten, they headed back to the apartment. Erica could see that Peter was quite happy hanging around his apartment. He must enjoy being normal. He'd probably like some time to himself, to potter around. "I'm going to go off and do a couple of things this afternoon" she told Peter. "No Spider-Man, I promise…"

"Don't make a promise you might not be able to keep. That got me in trouble a lot."

"No, no, I mean it - look, I'm going to take the Spidey outfit off." Erica pulled out the mask, gloves and boots, then pushed up her sleeves to reveal the web-shooters.

Peter sighed "I suppose I need to re-fill them anyway. You can watch if you want." Erica passed him the shooters. Peter took them and she followed him into his bedroom, where he went to his desk and unlocked a drawer with a key Erica hadn't seen him get. He took out various bottles and packets, a couple of tools, pulled up a chair to the desk, sat down and set to work. Erica watched closely. Peter seemed to forget she was there, and absent-mindedly spoke as he worked. 

"I was doing a school project on long chain polymers - the newest thing out - when I received the spider powers. Somehow, the bits I was missing to complete my project all fell into place, which is how I was able to invent the webbing. Something similar has probably been invented since, but looked at for different applications - no reason why researchers would think of using it as spider-silk. However, I did recently read a group was close to duplicating a practical, organic spider-silk, though with proteins and DNA rather than artificial chemicals. I'm sure it will have a much wider application than my stuff." He stopped and chuckled. "They inserted the DNA into goats; apparently the silk glands of spiders and the milk gland of goats are practically identical." He glanced sideways at Erica. "The goats were imported from New Zealand. Coincidence?"

"Spook-y!"

Peter made a few more adjustments to his formula, and began using one of the tools to re-fill the cartridges. Then he snapped them into the web-shooters and turned in his chair to face Erica. "_Next_ time you're Spider-Man, you can practise changing cartridges too. And I thought tonight we'd do our stake-out for Ray."

"Right-o. In the meantime, I'm going to have a shower and then leave you in peace."

Erica made her way back to the Daily Bugle offices. She figured to do a little more work… and a little research. Had there been any sightings of the 'alter-ray' man, any clues as to who he is and where he might be found? She had the feeling that there was probably someone behind him. And another thing that was bugging her. How had the Bugle got the information about Spider-Man's 'demise' so quickly? Who passed that information on? Oh yeah, 'sources' and all that, but what could be the harm in asking? 

Erica moved through the reporters' office space, gathering file photos that had been used and were waiting to be re-filed. She made her way to the corner where Joe Robertson had his desk - he seemed friendly - he was also an astute guy…she'd have to be careful… Robbie was leaning on his desk, flipping through some papers and shaking his head. 

He looked up as Erica neared, and said, exasperated, "Will you look at this? Jonah's off his tree…if I wasn't here to qualify his editorials, we'd be constantly sued more than we are…"

"Does that really happen often? I mean, getting sued and that? I thought the US constitution had a big thing on Freedom of Speech, or doesn't that apply to newspapers?"

"Ahh, the First Amendment. Well…it does and it doesn't. I was exaggerating slightly. A lot also depends on the political climate, and the owners of the paper - they can force a particular editorial slant to reflect their political values. The Bugle's pretty lucky in that regard - we can keep politically neutral. But… the editorial bias is anything but neutral in other matters…the bosses let Jameson have free reign… he creates controversy, which sells newspapers…which makes them money." Robbie sighed, and put the papers he was holding down on his desk. He folded his arms. "Though publishing libel could end up losing them money, they're willing to walk that fine line…"

"Oh! That explains…I haven't been in New York for very long, but reading the papers over the last few days…I did notice the Bugle…wondered how they could get away with some of those outrageous statements." Erica paused, and Robbie stood up straight and waved her into the spare chair by his desk, the walked around and sat in his own chair. He was settling in for a proper chat, thought Erica. Good.

"What do you mean?" Robbie asked.

"Well, some of the articles seem a bit…empty. I'm not disparaging the reporters, but…there's not a lot of fact backing these articles, they appear to be based on hear-say. I thought if you were going to publish an assertion, then you'd have…something to back it up."

"You ever take journalism classes?"

"No."

"Journalists not only look for facts. They also look for stories, especially if they're going to be tomorrow's breaking news. Printing a leak, even a small one, could lead to a much bigger story - kudos for the paper…for the reporter. It's accepted practise."

"Oh. Like…like that article the other day about Spider-Man…that he was no more. It just said 'a reliable source' - and that's O.K.?"

"Yeah, sure."

"So who's a reliable source when he's at home….who provides leaks and information to you?"

"People. People who are unhappy in their jobs; people who feel they are providing a public service; who want a small bit of control or power. Different motivations. What makes a source reliable, is if they've given us information in the past, and it's proved correct. Of course, you still have to use your own judgement, it's still your own call…"

Erica pretended to be mildly astonished as she said "And that Spider-Man source had given you accurate stuff before?"

"Yep."

"Who is he? Does he know Spider-Man?"

"Can't divulge our sources…"

"Uh. I've heard _that_ one before!"

Robbie laughed. Erica grinned and said "I know I'm curious. Tell me to mind my own business…"

"No, no! But what I can tell you are some of the other news items he's provided us with. Look, I'll scribble them down for you - you might want to look them up for yourself in the morgue. I'll also add a couple of books you could read about the journalism industry that you might find interesting."

"Um…thanks!" Erica tried not to let any excitement show. Interest was fine, but not excitement…

"So," said Robbie, handing a piece of paper over to Erica, who took it, glanced at what was written, and put it in her pocket, "So… don't newspapers in New Zealand get sued?"

"I don't think so…but they must take a lot of legal advice, eh - I've seen many apologies printed!"

"Heh."

Erica was glad the conversation changed direction: being a foreigner had probably allayed any suspicions Robbie may have had. Why would a visitor to the U.S.A. be vitally interested as to who a particular newspaper source was? She and Robbie chatted for a few more minutes, then she said "I've taken up enough of your busy time, I'm afraid. Thanks for answering my silly questions. You've given me a lot to think about…"

"A pleasure to have someone interested. Parker's lucky to have an intelligent cousin like you."

Erica blushed "Er…I'd better get back to work…See ya."

"Bye now." Robbie smiled as Erica walked away, and then bent over the papers on his desk once more.

Going into the Bugle's newspaper archive to use the computer in the photo library, Erica thought about what she had learnt - the list of other news the source had given info on; and the assumption that the source was a 'he' hadn't been corrected, so that was possibly certain. She was hoping to find a common link between the articles, something that would hopefully narrow down the search. Another thought struck her; Robbie had been able to write the news items from memory. The source must have gone direct to him. She hoped that the time between the items wasn't too close. That could mean that the source was trying to establish himself as reliable as a lead up to Spider-Man being taken out of action. There they were; all the articles - four of them - had been about Spider-Man. That figured of course. But _what_ about him? 

The first one was about a villain he'd fought called Arcade. The second was saying that Spider-Man had been seen falling off the side of a building, 'Is Spider-Man losing it?'; then one about Spider-Man intercepting what he thought were a gang of criminals doing a drug heist, but who turned out to be delivering much-needed medical drugs to a clinic; and the final article had an eye-witness account of Spider-Man breaking and entering into business premises. 

Erica read them, but made no immediate connections between them. She'd have to ask Pete, and hope her idea wasn't just a wild goose chase… She printed them out and folded the paper into her pocket. She did a search to find out the details of the locales of the articles - two of them did - the breaking & entering and the medical clinic. Photos - any photos? She found one of Arcade - man, what bad fashion sense. She searched out background on the people and places mentioned, and printed them all out - she'd read them later. 

Well, while she was in research mode, perhaps she should answer a few inquiries… Erica spent the next couple of hours searching through the photo library and answering letters, She was glad none of the inquiries involved having a personal knowledge of New York or it's history - she knew only the extreme basics. She chuckled to herself - probably as much as a lot of native New Yorkers knew, even though they'd hate to admit it. 

Finally she glanced at the clock and figured that she had given Peter a good three hours to himself. She visited the Accounts department and handed in a time-sheet - she had to give Jameson one thing; he was meticulous about making sure under-the-table payments were made promptly! Waving good-bye to a couple of the Bugle's staffers, she passed by Helen's stony disapproval and out of the building. There were a few spits of rain - Erica walked briskly back to the flat.

Coming out of the shuddering lift - surely that thing didn't have a warrant of fitness? - Erica slipped her backpack off and opened the unlocked apartment door. Just as she was about to enter and dump her bag on the table, her spider-sense went off. Something…wrong…inside the flat! Cautiously she moved into the living area, prepared to take action immediately if she needed to. There on the couch in front of her, looking pissed off, was a stunning redhead. Erica gaped; what was Mary-Jane doing in New York? Where was Peter? Oh hell, she was in for it now!

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Next: MJ in New York


	8. MJ's Surprise

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Chapter 8: MJ's Surprise 

Mary -Jane grabbed her large shoulder bag from the carousel, and went out of the terminal at La Guardia to find her pre-ordered taxi. There it was, waiting. Good, it shouldn't take as long getting across town. She got into the cab and gave her destination, then settled back into the seat; she considered whether she should take a detour and call in on Aunt May, but then thought of how long it would take before she would be able to get away, and decided to see her later. 

First, she wanted to make sure Peter was O.K. She'd tried calling him a few times over the last couple of days, but only got his ansaphone; for some reason, she didn't feel like leaving a message, silly as it was. She was concerned about him - someone had pointed out a small article in one of the papers to the effect that Spider-Man was dead. She didn't really believe that… she heard so much rumour about Spider-Man over the years, that she automatically discounted most of it. She could guess where most of it originated anyway. 

But after not getting hold of Peter on the phone… not hearing from him for a few days - that was unlike him. She wrangled a small assignment to New York, and thought to spend a couple of days there, staying in a hotel. But first… 

Mary-Jane paid off the cabby, turned to face the building and sighed - what a squalid place. Picking up her bag, she entered into the small lobby and called the elevator. With much clanking and groaning it arrived, and the doors slammed open. M-J shuddered herself and got in - she hated small enclosed places. She closed her eyes as she went up. Peter's apartment wasn't much bigger, she knew. 

Thankful to finally get out of the elevator, she knocked on Peter's door, and waited. No answer. She knocked again, and listened carefully. No sound. After another minute of waiting, Mary-Jane impatiently got out a set of keys from her bag. Peter had given her a key when he moved in - he obviously hoped it would encourage her to feel free to come back. Well, not in that way it didn't. 

She unlocked the apartment and walked in. 

"Peter?" she called out. "Tiger?" No reply. 

Looking around, she noticed that the place was an unusual mess, but obviously lived in. Mary-Jane breathed a sigh of relief and put her bag on the floor; she'd make herself a cup of coffee and wait for Peter to come home. 

Peter's furniture was worn around the edges - the wooden chairs and table were stained and battered; one of the table legs had a piece of folded paper under it. The couch sagged, and the bookcase was made up from an assortment of cheap shelving in different lengths and widths. The grey linoleum was worn in the high traffic areas in the kitchen and through the doorways. It had a faded red monogram spaced at intervals across the floor. Mary-Jane in wry amusement, read the intertwined letters: MJW. 

As she went into the small kitchen area, Mary-Jane started noticing a few odd things. There were two mugs to be washed - well, she supposed Peter could have a friend for coffee. But then she noticed two bowls, left over from breakfast. Her eye travelled over the rest of the counter; a box of tea bags sat by the kettle - Peter didn't drink tea. 

She turned and looked over the living area and noticed that the couch had a blanket pushed down at one end. There were a couple of plastic carrier bags on the floor; one had tipped over and a pair of jeans spilled out. Curious, she went and picked the bag up. As the jeans fell out, they revealed woman's underwear further in the bag. 

Mary-Jane stood in shock, staring at the underwear. Is this why Peter hadn't rung her? She dropped the bag and turned into the bedroom - thank goodness, that was as tidy as it always was. 

She checked out the bathroom, and became puzzled. Peter's Spider-Man costume was hanging up to dry - that wasn't what puzzled her - but there were no feminine toiletries. Mary-Jane went back into the living area and put the kettle on for that coffee; she didn't quite know what to make of it - if Peter had a woman staying, surely there'd be more evidence of it then there was? M-J took her coffee over to the couch and sat down. She had a peek in the other carrier bag - it contained a lot of tourist brochures; odd.

Well, anyway Peter himself was alive and well, and so was Spider-Man by the looks of it. She'd wait for him to turn up. 

Mary-Jane took out her PDA from her bag, and checked it for any new messages - She returned one on her cell-phone and vaguely thought how useful it would be if Peter carried a cell-phone himself. She sighed - he couldn't really afford it, and it wasn't practical to his 'life-style'. Pity. 

She sighed again - she should have known the rumour was just that - the call of Spider-Man was too strong for Peter to resist for long, with that sense of responsibility he had. Shame it hadn't included a sense of responsibility to his wife… M-J started to feel mildly annoyed. Just as well she had a job to do here. She got up from the couch and opened the windows - she was starting to feel claustrophobic. She hated being by herself for long periods of time as well. She looked out - it was starting to rain. Mary-Jane heard a rumbling then, she recognised it as the old elevator - someone had called it down - was that Peter? She headed back to the couch to wait. 

Minutes later, the noise of the elevator stopped and the handle of the door turned. Slowly, the door opened and a woman stepped warily in, a stranger. Mary-Jane stared at her. The woman had no figure to speak of, and was not at all well-groomed; her short dark hair, a color between black and brown, stuck out; she was wearing no make up and her casual clothes were rumpled - she did have a tanned, open, friendly face though, and astonishing eyes the pale shining grey of the sea when the sun is burning behind a mist. She also moved with a fluid grace that reminded her of someone… At the moment she was surprised to see Mary-Jane there. Her mouth was open in shock - she must have expected to see Peter.

Mary-Jane stood up slowly. "Hi," she said. "I'm Mary-Jane Watson-_Parker_. And you are…?"

The woman's mouth closed, then opened again as she gained some composure. "Oh! Gidday, I'm Erica Stirling, I'm Peter's cousin…"

"I wasn't aware Peter had any cousins…" said Mary-Jane flatly. She eyed the woman suspiciously. She didn't know whether to believe her. She had a foreign accent. 

"Neither was Pete until a coupla days ago. Distant cousins though. Our great-grandfathers were brothers. I'm from New Zealand by the way, so we're _very_ distant cousins!"

"Oh, please!" Mary-Jane was not in the mood for ill attempts at humour. "Where's Peter?"

"Um, I don't know - I thought he'd be here. He must've gone out for something…"

"Stating the obvious. Well, you're apparently taking good care of him - tell him I was here when he gets back, but not to bother calling me." 

Mary-Jane expected that she had intimidated this gauche woman enough - time to go. However when she looked up a second later after picking her shoulder bag up, she was surprised herself. Erica was standing tall with a no-nonsense air to her, her eyes and face reflecting Mary-Jane's own annoyance.

"Look," she said, her voice quite different in tone, authoritative even, "You came here to see Peter: you could do both yourselves a favour and stay until he gets back. Now sit! I'll make you another cup of coffee."

To her astonishment, Mary-Jane found herself compelled to do as she was told. She sank back on the couch and stared at Erica - she had made a judgement based on her appearance only, and it was a mistake. She of all people should know that appearances can be deceiving… 

Erica busied herself in the kitchen while she talked.

"Pete's been reluctant to speak of you, but I can tell when he thinks of you - an almost desperate sadness comes over him. I've never really seen that sort of sadness before. He misses you. Now, you may think it's none of my business, but I do care. I don't like seeing people hurting like that." She waved her arm to make a point.

"Oh, yes, I've been 'taking care' of him - he's also been taking care of me. I've…not had an easy time of it since I arrived in New York. Peter has been very kind. But he doesn't _need_ me; as much as the prospect of having relatives means to him as an orphan, he _needs_ his family. And that includes you and Aunt May. Right. I've banged my drum enough now. How do you have your coffee?"

Mary-Jane didn't quite know what to think about this stranger now - she was being forthright, but not rude. Mary-Jane regretted her earlier rudeness - she had perceived Erica as a threat, but could tell from Erica's speech and manner that she was not. Chastised, she replied "Milk, two sugars, thank-you." Erica brought it over to her. She meet her eye as she passed the mug over. "I'm sorry," she apologised.

"That's all right," said Erica, restored to her good humour, "I sort of understand if you're pissed off at Peter, but no need to be pissed off at me too! I'll just go and grab my cup of tea; I've been dying for one all afternoon!" She came back and sat in one of the hard wooden chairs. "I've also raided the biscuit tin," she said, and handed M-J a plate with some chocolate chip cookies. M-J took one then passed the plate back. Erica helped herself to one and started munching. Mary-Jane was uncertain what to say - what did they have in common? 

"How long are you in New York City?" she asked, mainly to fill in the silence.

"Uh, I'm not sure…" replied Erica, "I'm having trouble with my…arrangements to get home." 

"Isn't air travel the worst sometimes. Did they loose your luggage as well?" Mary-Jane thought she understood why Erica appeared to have no luggage with her.

"Um, yes. They were going to put me up in a hotel, but it was right next to the airport, and while I was in New York, I wanted to see something of it, so I declined. Now they're trying to work out some deal or other… I'm on a tight budget and couldn't afford to keep staying in a hotel, so it's really nice of Pete to put me up like this... he values his privacy."

Mary-Jane suddenly remembered Peter's Spidey costume hanging up in the bathroom.

"Well, I hope they sort it out soon. Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom." She got up and headed that way.

"Sure."

Once there, M-J fingered the costume - it was dry, good. Quickly, she took it down off it's hanger. Eventually, she flushed the toilet and when she left the bathroom, she shoved the bundled up costume under Peter's pillow. She wondered why she bothered; if Peter was careless about his secret, then why should she help him keep it? But she had no choice, not really. 

Back in the lounge, Mary-Jane noticed that Erica had polished off the plate of cookies - how does she stay slim eating that sort of stuff, she fleetingly wondered. Erica had a thick book in front of her on the table and was holding it open with a hand and an elbow, reading it while drinking her tea. Mary-Jane craned her neck to read the title: _Encyclopedia of New York City_. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised, but tourists usually went for guidebooks, or something a little less…weighty. She sat back down on the couch and took out her PDA again. She checked the time - how much longer was Peter going to be? M-J was about to ask Erica what she had seen of New York, when the clunking of the elevator started up again. Peter this time for sure.

They both heard him put his keys in the lock, and turn the door handle. The handle was rattled, and then the keys turned again. Mary-Jane smiled, she could imagine Peter's puzzlement. This time the door opened and Peter's damp head poked around the corner. 

He saw Erica sitting at the table, and came in saying "How did you get in? I thought I'd closed all the win…" and then stop suddenly as he saw who else was in the room. 

"Mary-Jane!" he exclaimed, "Oh, Mary-Jane!" He completely ignored Erica, and crossed the room towards Mary-Jane. She stood up to meet him. "Howdy, Tiger," she said. He really did have a sad air about him, but she saw the joy at the sight of her springing into his eyes.

He paused in front of her, his eyes not leaving hers, and then he folded her into his arms, "Oh, M-J! I've missed you so much!" He held her tightly for a brief moment, and then let go.

"Are you here for long?" he asked almost hopefully.

"I have a small job tomorrow, then I'm heading off again."

"I'm so glad you came to see me…I know you're busy…"

"You have been too, the last few days, I gather."

Peter looked startled. Now, why does he look like that, mused Mary-Jane, but she said, "I've met your cousin Erica. From New Zealand." She smiled, and glanced at the table. Erica was no longer there. That's funny, she hadn't seen or heard her go.

"Oh, Erica. Right." Peter turned to the table as well. "Oh, she's gone! Well, I guess she didn't want to be a third wheel."

"She's a bit… strange. Is she here for long?"

"Only until she finds out how to get home…" replied Peter absently, still looking at the chair where Erica had been. "I mean…!" he started correcting himself.

"It's O.K. She told me she'd been having problems with her air travel arrangements." Mary-Jane reached up her hand and touched Peter's chin lightly.

"Uh, yeah, air travel…" said Peter, looking back at M-J with a slight frown on his face. 

Mary-Jane smiled again. There was so not something going on between the two, that was evident. She relaxed. 

That reminded her… "I can see you're related; you both move the same way."

Peter looked agitated, "Whaddya mean?"

"Just something about the way you walk - you know, ready for anything." Mary-Jane laughed, "And you both can disappear very quickly." She gave Peter's cheek a quick tweak. "Well, whatever, she's given us some time to ourselves, let's make the most of it, shall we?"

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Next: Checks and Balances


	9. Checks & Balances

A/N: Thanks for the reviews so far - it really helps to know that someone's reading this!

Cheers,

Apteryx.

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Chapter 9: Checks and Balances.

Peter stretched and yawned. He was feeling very relaxed, and that was almost a novelty. He looked out the kitchen window; it was dark out now, but the rain had stopped. Erica would probably be back soon; he'd noticed earlier that the bathroom window was open and the Spidey outfit gone. He looked around the lounge as he put the kettle on - Erica's backpack was gone too. Good, she'd probably come in again through the front door. He lightly wondered where she had gone, but he was in a good mood, and didn't spend long thinking about Erica - she could look after herself now. He carried a cup of coffee over to Mary-Jane, who was sitting on one of the chairs. He sat in the other and looked at her over the table. 

"Where're you staying tonight?" he asked her.

"Oh, the normal. The Royalton." 

"Where they treat you like royalty, I bet."

Mary-Jane set her coffee on top of Erica's abandoned book and groaned at the lame joke. She tapped the cover of the book with a long pale pink fingernail. "A little light reading you've set your pupil Mr Parker."

Peter watched the dimples appear, and smiled easily in return. "I hope she's learning it all - there'll be a test on the subject at the end of the semester. Name NYC's top ten tourist traps…"

"Name NYC's top ten places to be seen …"

"NYC's top ten exclusive areas…"

"NYC's top ten overrated restaurants."

"Which reminds me - where do you want to eat tonight? We'll all go out if Erica's back within the half hour; otherwise I'll leave a note, and it'll be just us two." Peter sort of hoped Erica would be late…

Half an hour later, there was still no sign of Erica. Peter supposed she was web-slinging her way around east Midtown, trying to flush out 'Ray-Man' as they had planned to anyway - he'd know soon enough if she succeeded. He grabbed a pencil and paper and scribbled a note for Erica and left it on the table. 

Just before he and Mary-Jane left the apartment, he surreptitiously slipped some cash under the note - he didn't want Erica to be without the means to go out herself for dinner if she felt like it. He helped Mary-Jane on with her jacket, and locked the apartment door behind them.

………………………………………………

Smiling to himself, Peter pushed open the doors on the elevator. He'd had a very pleasant evening out with Mary-Jane. It was like dating all over again. They had gone to the Zen Palate; Peter knew Mary-Jane enjoyed it there - the minimalist décor and the excellent food. The bill wasn't excessive at the end either, which was a plus as far as Peter was concerned, although Mary-Jane insisted on paying. Peter paid the tip. He then helped Mary-Jane into a cab back to her hotel. "I hope I'll see you again soon," he murmured, "I can't begin to tell you what seeing you has done for me…"

"Don't leave it so long before you call me next time, Tiger," MJ replied, as she began to shut the door, "Talk to you later." The door closed and the cab drove off. Peter stood and watched it disappear down the street. 

"I love you," he whispered after it.

Peter unlocked his apartment door and let himself in. The apartment was all in shadow; it was late. He shut the door behind him quietly, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He could just make out a dark figure huddled by the couch. 

Erica! 

Peter had virtually forgot about her during the evening. Then he realised she was shaking. He almost ran over to her, put his arm out towards her scrunched up form. 

"Erica," he said softly, "Are you all right?"

She shuddered and slowly lifted her head to look at Peter. Her lip and one eye were swollen, her eye a darker shadow in her face. He then noticed that she was still in the Spider-Man costume, though she had removed the mask. She took a couple of deep breaths, so deep she was almost hyperventilating. 

"I can't do it," she said hoarsely, shakily. "I can't…won't…"

"What's the matter? Are you hurt? What happened?" asked Peter, becoming alarmed. 

He reached over the back of the couch for the blanket, wrapped it around Erica, and crouched down by her, one arm protectively around her. She was obviously in shock, but she put her head in her hands and made a visible effort to calm herself. 

After a few moments, she took her hands away and looked at Peter again. 

"I'm not hurt really, only bruised - it's nothing, they'll heal," she said. "I'm sorry… I thought I could cope with being Spider-Man, but you were right: it's too risky."

"Why? What happened? It's all right now, tell me."

"My first big fight and I blew it… Oh, I won," Erica hurriedly said, seeing the look on Peter's face, "Your reputation's the same as ever, but… beating people up, hurting them like that… Pete, I can't cope with that, can't live with it. I know I'm helping, stopping someone being a victim, but…"

Hanging his head for a moment, Peter took his arm away from Erica's back, then held both her hands between his and looked straight into her eyes. "I'm probably the only one who can understand what you're going through. I… had to find a defence mechanism myself to deal with some of the things that happened when I started as Spider-Man." He paused. "You know how I got my powers? Then what happened to make me _become_ Spider-Man?" Erica nodded. 

"When I began fighting crime, it got to a point when all I saw was crime everywhere. I couldn't see any good in people - they were all possible criminals - and the bad publicity I got as well didn't help. I had real doubts as to why I was doing it, and I realised I had to snap out of it, get some perspective or something. Well, that's when I began to assert my sense of humour - you know, all the wisecracking. It helps."

Erica was silent, listening, thinking. Peter continued, "Humour may not be your way of coping; though you were pretty good at it last night - you might have been Spider-Man!" Erica gave Peter the barest smile. "Whatever your way, I'm sure you'll do just fine. You really have been thrown in the deep end with all this, much more than I ever was. I'm real amazed that you've been holding up as well as you have." Peter gave Erica's hands a squeeze and let them go. He stood up. "Hop onto the couch, and I'll make you a cup of tea. I promise to make you a decent one." 

He flicked the switch to turn the light on, and blinking, gave Erica a brief look as he went into the kitchen - she appeared to be recovering from her shock. He'd get the details later. Not for the first time he wondered what most people thought it was like to be a super-hero: probably love the idea of having the superpowers, but no conception of the problems involved too. The moral and ethical dilemmas. Temptations. Nothing as black and white as you'd believe. Add all the personal crap into the mix as well… You had to believe you were doing good, making a difference, to survive. 

Peter found his 'Don't Worry - Be Happy' mug that someone had given him as a joke, at the back of a cupboard - he brewed Erica's tea in it and added plenty of sugar even though he knew she didn't take it. He walked back to the couch and handed the mug to Erica. She had taken off the gloves and web-shooters now, and took the tea with her bare hands; she didn't even glance at the outside of the mug. 

"Thanks." She gulped the hot tea down, blanket slipping off her shoulders.

"You should go have a shower, get changed," Peter told her as he cleaned up in the kitchen. He came and got her empty mug. "Go on," he urged her gently. He took the mug back to the kitchen, but when he turned it was to discover Erica standing in the middle of the lounge, all suited up once more.

"I'm going out again," she said.

"Are you sure you're up to it?"

She nodded, "I have to, if I'm ever going to. I feel better now. I think I know… I once had a game with my neighbour's boy on his Playstation - he beat the crap out of me, first time I'd played, but I remember how long it took me to get over how real the graphics were. Well, out there will be a hyper-real video game…" She swept her arm out, then posed in character as Spider-Man. "Watch out, here comes a Spider-Man!"

Peter eyed her dubiously, then relaxed, laughing. Spidey sprung for the window, clung to the wall next to it as she opened it, then waving to Peter, leapt out. Peter hoped she'd be O.K. Well, she certainly had determination - that was a typical Spidey trait. 

He automatically schlepped around the lounge picking things up, tidying while thinking about earlier in the afternoon. He hadn't been able to settle down to anything in the apartment: he'd tried working out a list of possible alternative careers, but after jotting down a few ideas, ran out of impetuous. He grabbed his jacket and left the apartment. He'd go down to the library and do some reading there. Once there, he'd lost track of the time as he got interested in reading some of the latest scientific periodicals, his favourite ones; _Scientific American, Nature, Trends in Biotechnology_, and the online _Bubble Chamber_… He glanced at the big reading room clock as he closed the cover of _Trends_… Oops, now it was his turn to be late: Erica was locked out - worse than that, she was shut out too! 

Peter grinned remembering his confusion unlocking his apartment door. And to see Mary-Jane… He sighed and folded up the blanket which had been left in a heap on the floor and placed it on the end of the couch. What a day. He yawned, time to hit the hay. He'll have to see what the morning would bring - Spider-Man or no.

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Next: Linking (part 1)


	10. Linking part 1

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Chapter 10: Linking (part 1)

Spidey flipped through the air and swung down with her legs outstretched in front of her. Her feet slammed into the chest of a hood, who fell to the ground. Momentum carried Spidey on and she landed a few feet away. Immediately she jumped and flipped as her spider-sense warned her of someone rushing her from behind. She boxed the man's ears as she came down from her flip, and watched him hit the ground as well. She looked around, ready to move. Now, where had the third guy got to? 

She heard a scream from around the corner. Quickly she shot a line of web and swung around and up onto the side of the building, where she saw the guy with the woman he'd dragged away. He now had one arm around her throat and his other hand held a gun. "I'll shoot!" he was saying, wildly waving the gun around in the air - he hadn't seen Spidey yet. "I'm warnin' ya!" 

'Thwip!' A splodge of webbing covered the guy's gun and hand in one sticky mass. "Oopsy," muttered Spidey under her breath. Aloud she said "Yech! What'd you have that gun loaded with - glue?" In the moment while the guy was distracted, she rapidly leapt down, shot some web at his lower legs as she bounced past him and then gave a sharp tug on the web line. The thug involuntary let go his victim as his arms flew up, his feet shot out from under him and his chin connected with concrete. More webbing materialised and glued his feet and hands to the ground. 

Spidey turned to the woman who was standing wide-eyed with her hands to her mouth. "Tsk, see what happens when small boys play with glue guns?"

"You… saved my life! O thank-you!" She seemed about to throw herself into Spidey's arms.

Spidey very quickly leapt up the wall next to her. "No thanks necessary - all part of the service from your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man!" and she rapidly crawled up the wall to the second story ledge, flung out a web-line and was off, watched by the woman below.

Spidey travelled a few blocks, then stopped by the darkened glass observatory of the Paramount Building. She liked that a lot of the older buildings were of brick - they made the city seem warm somehow, and you could tell this was not an earthquake-prone area. The lights of the city glittered above and about her as she sat on an outcrop above one of the clock faces, and mused. 

Well, the video game scenario was definitely helping, and the humour too. But that last bit back there - she was getting better with the web shooters, but she really should have whipped that gun away before he knew what had happened. She was lucky that woman didn't get hurt. Practise; a spider has got to spin her web accurately. She sat upright in the reflected points of light and spun. 

Some time later, Spidey was playing cat's-cradle with gossamer fine strands of web. 

"And there's the Cup-and-saucer," she murmured as she manipulated the faintly glistening strands. She held her hands straight out in front and admired her handiwork for a moment; then suddenly pulled her hands wide apart and flicked the web away. Well now. She got up. Time for a little fine target shooting. 

Swinging down, she looked for a deserted alleyway with a full rubbish skip. Not hard. Perched on the portico above the back entrance to a restaurant, she concentrated on 'picking up' the rubbish that was littering the ground beside the skip. Practise, and a community service at the same time! She very quickly figured out the exact fine adjustment needed to snare small objects. Now, if only she could _actually_ snare them. Several near misses sent cans clattering across the concrete. The narrow alley magnified the sound - Spidey wondered if you got many stray cats in mid Manhattan. 

Someone was still in the kitchen of the restaurant, even as late in the morning as it was. The back door opened and a colourful cursing began, which stopped abruptly as the worker saw the strands of web surrounding the skip. 

"What the?" he began and looked up. But by that time Spidey was well away. 

Stopping only to rescue some poor drunk sod who was about to stagger onto the Avenue of the Americas, busy even at this time of the night, Spidey headed back to the apartment. She landed lightly outside the open window, and just as lightly leapt inside. Tired now, Erica stripped out of the Spidey-suit and into an old shirt of Pete's she was using as a night-shirt. Wrapping herself in the blanket, she thought 'this old couch is really comfy…' as she lay down, and was instantly asleep. 

…………………………………………..

What seemed like only a short time later, it was daylight and Peter was in the kitchen making coffee. The shrill whistle of the kettle boiling had woken her up. She opened her good eye to look at the time: it _was_ only a short time later - three hours at the most since she had gone to bed. A good three hours though - she'd had a sleep as deep as black velvet. She sat up, yawning. Peter grinned at her. "Morning, sleepyhead!"

Erica grinned back, wincing a little as she stretched her swollen lip, "Morning Murray."

"How'd you go last night?"

Erica watched Peter fill his percolator, and then pour boiling water in a cup for her. "Boy, I could do with a cuppa tea!" She stood up before she answered Peter's question. "I think I've nailed it. I'm just going to have a quick shower and get dressed - I'll tell you how it went over breakfast."

Erica sat across from Peter at the little table. "…that fight was close contact - I could smell them - don't some people wash? There were five of them, and I guess they figured together they ought to be a match for Spider-Man. They were wrong, but still, it was a hard fight for me - as you see, I didn't escape completely unscathed. I'm not used to fighting. I think I was half consciously trying to work out how to avoid them, instead of relying on spider-sense and reflexes. I was scared, but sort of excited too, eh? That must have been the adrenaline. But it wasn't exciting at all when I'd finished. There was blood… and one guy was so still - I thought I'd killed him! I hadn't, but he was so… unconscious…" Erica sighed and sipped some of her tea. The last guy of the group had had a leering shark tattooed above his right eye - with his eyebrow shaved off to highlight it. Sharky had been particularly vicious, he knew how to fight and he had a version of a knuckle-duster set with shark's teeth that he slashed at her. Once she stopped thinking, spider-sense and reflexes had saved her from injury each time, but she'd had to wait until she had an opening to his chin with a double fisted punch before she been able to seriously stop him. Someone had called the police; she heard their sirens getting nearer above the din of the traffic. A small crowd had also gathered, watching the fight from a safe distance. When she had downed Sharky, they gave a cheer. It was only some free entertainment for most of them. She kept moving, didn't hang around: it might have become obvious she wasn't really Spider-_Man_.

Erica veered the subject onto a slightly different course. "I also saved this really pissed bloke from becoming road kill on 6th."

"What was he angry about?"

"Eh? He wasn't angry, just extremely drunk."

"You said he was pissed!"

"He was!"

"Angry!"

"Drunk!" Pissed. Not pissed off!" Erica giggled, "Kiwi idiom."

"Kiwi idiot!" Peter laughed.

It felt good to laugh with a friend. Erica finished off her breakfast; Peter had already eaten his while she was yakking. "Hey, I've got a couple of questions to ask you." Erica got up and fetched her notes from her backpack, brought them back to the table. 

Peter was curious. "What are they?"

"When I left you alone yesterday afternoon, I went to the Bugle and did some research. I want to know who could be behind the 'alter-ray'. The Bugle I read mentioned a 'reliable source' for the story of you out of action - you said yourself there were no witnesses. So who knew? Someone who had hired the villain. One of your enemies."

"Well, that sounds reasonable, but I don't see where that leads us."

"But wait…there's more! I asked Robbie who the reliable source was."

"You what?!"

"Don't worry, I was subtle. He indulged the antipodean tourist, so even though he named no names, he did tell me the other stories this particular reliable source contributed to. I looked them up - here they are - I want you to see if there's any link between them. I couldn't, but I wasn't there."

Peter took the printouts and notes and read them through. "Falling off a building…. Well, I'd caught a sudden virus that morning, ya know, like one of those 24 hour flu bugs. Man, it felt as if my skin was on fire, my nerve endings all creepy and sensitive as well. Lucky for me it only lasted a few hours."

"What happened when you fell?"

"Oh that - I fell a number of stories, but recovered and swung away. I guess there were people about who may have seen me fall, though I didn't notice any." He looked again at the notes. "Hmmm, Arcade. Anyone can hire him. And if it involved me, he'd be quite happy - another one who feels he has a score to settle. No witnesses to that; another case of 'hire the kooky villains to settle Spider-Man's hash.'"

"What about the medical clinic?"

A fleeting reflection of annoyance crossed Peter's face. "There _was_ something suspicious going on there - my spider sense was tingling like crazy. The people doing the 'delivering' where not your normal types, even if they were wearing overalls and were carrying cooling units. Also, they were taking them into the van, not out. But the owner of the clinic kicked up a fuss when the police arrived, and insisted that they were legitimate. There was nothing I could do about it."

"And the last one?"

Peter almost ground his teeth. "That was a set up. I'd had a message for me to meet a contact at that address - they said they had some information for me about Dr. Otto Octavius and to meet them inside on the 4th floor. I was pretty cautious but nothing alerted me to anything wrong, so I opened a window and went in." 

"And?"

"And…nobody. No-one there. I had a brief search around, but it seemed to be one of those office spaces for hire, empty, no papers or stuff about."

"Could we find out who rented the space at that time?"

"I thought about that, but inquiries showed that the company that leased the offices had been burgled and their key cabinet taken only the day before. That sort of thing always seems to happen to me," he added.

"Who owns the Moroney Clinic, what sort of clinic is it? Do you know?"

"Look at your notes again. It's run by a Dr. Whithead who's a specialist in disorders of the nervous system - specifically he treats coma patients - has a private hospital for them attached to his clinic."

Erica had taken a pencil and started writing some more notes while Peter was talking. "I dunno, not much in the way of links at all besides the idea there must be someone or maybe even a group behind them. The only one mentioned was Dr. Octavius, but that seems too straightforward and easy." She paused, tapping the end of the pencil against her lips as she thought. "Hmmm. Why would someone want to give you information on Dr. Octavius?"

"Well, he's not a medical doctor, so he can't be connected to the clinic. He's a…" 

Erica was about to interrupt, to say she knew what and who he was, but remembered that she hadn't told Peter the full extent of her knowledge of Spider-Man. It was a strange enough situation without adding more to the mix, though she suspected that Peter would take it in his stride - after all, he had seen and heard more that was a lot stranger. Still, she was in some ways relieved to know as much as she did; she was sure it helped her come to grips with the whole thing. 

So, Erica kept her mouth shut.

"…PhD in nuclear biology," Peter went on, "He had an…unfortunate accident involving nuclear radiation and some waldos he was working with - they got fused to his body - and his mind. In fact, his nervous system. Eventually he was able to have surgery to remove them, but he can still control them with his mind. Perhaps there is a link - tenuous, but… what if Doc Ock is seeing Dr Whithead in connection with his extra arms? Not likely, but you never know…"

"Do you think that's what someone was going to tell you? I don't see why."

"Some people just like to make trouble…" Peter drifted off and looked rather sad as he said this: Erica knew he hadn't had an easy time of it - who was she kidding - cliched understatement. But clichés were easy when you were trying hard to build an interface between comics, video games and reality. She suspected wryly that if she were the same age as her nephew it would be easier… 

She had been doodling as she thought, in the small silence that had ensued after Peter's last statement. Peter was still silent. Erica could tell he was thinking of past encounters. She looked down at the piece of paper; she had subconsciously drawn a spider's web, with the intersecting points little buildings and figures. And who was at the centre of the web? Doc Ock. 

"I reckon…" she said thoughtfully, still staring at her drawing, trying to snatch at her vaguely formulated ideas and give them solidity, "I think perhaps… you may be right… Dr Octavius could be at the centre of all this - he could be the 'reliable source' phoning in. Don't know why I think this - one mention of him _is_ a slim base to build a theory out of - but, I dunno… there's something that gels…" Erica didn't want to elaborate. 

Peter looked up. "You think so?" he asked, his eyebrows raised.

"Well, we could at least check it out. It's a theory to fit the facts we've got - we can only go by that. What do scientists do when they come up with a theory?"

"Try to disprove it."

Exactly. We've got to disprove this theory before we can come up with another one. Maybe we'll find some more facts along the way. I've got no idea why Dr. Octopus would cook up such a convoluted story, just to get you out of the way - but it must mean he's up to something if he did." 

"But what?" Peter got up and went to the door. "I'll be back in a sec - I'll go get the papers. I can usually scrounge an old ish or two too," he added with a grin. "I've been sweet-talking the corner newsagent. Ciao!" He banged the door carelessly behind him as he left, and Erica could hear him running down the stairs. She took the breakfast dishes to the kitchen and thought some more about her theory while she washed up. O.K., Dr Ock could have hired Arcade, 'Ray-man'. He could have set up the break-in and be visiting the Clinic, but how did Spider-Man falling off a wall fit in? Gah. 

Looking around the lounge, Erica spied her backpack. She went and picked it up and walked into the bathroom. She'd bought a few toiletries for herself but didn't have the chance yesterday to unpack them from her bag. She ran her tongue over her furry teeth - she really needed to clean them. The little bottles of shampoo and conditioner she'd snaffled from her hotel room were virtually finished. Besides, the stuff in them was pretty awful - it made her hair even more lank, and the bits that tended to stick out, stuck out even more. She knew she wasn't the most polished woman around. Mary-Jane yesterday looked so smooth and poised - and she knew she herself not only felt, but looked hot, sweaty and dishevelled. She spat out toothpaste with difficulty around her swollen lip, and sighed. Well, that was life. 

She didn't care whether she was beautiful, whether she was poised or polished. After last night it didn't matter. None of it did. She had found a new confidence in herself - if she could do the best with her abilities - make the most of her situation, surely that was all that mattered. If it meant using _all_ her abilities, her natural ones as well as the spider-given, then she had to accept that. She passed a hand over her face. Amazing what having clean teeth did! Erica set out the rest of her purchases in a little huddle together on the glass shelf, apart from Peter's stuff, and left the bathroom.

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Next: Linking (part 2)


	11. Linking part 2

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Chapter 11: Linking (part 2)

When Peter arrived back with a bundle of newspapers, Erica was searching around for more paper to scribble on; the shampoo wasn't the only used up thing she had snaffled from the hotel.

"Hey." Peter dumped the pile on the couch.

"Have you got any scrap paper?" she asked, "Oh, and another pencil. I've thought of a couple more strands of the web we could follow."

Peter looked amused as he went into the bedroom and shortly came back with a spiral pad and a thick-leaded pencil. "Some of the reporters at work use these," he said as he handed them to her, "Makes them feel like real hard-boiled reporters."

"What eggs."

Peter laughed. "So, whaddya want to start with - Daily Bugle, Daily Post, NY Times, NY Herald, City Voice, NY Observer…"

"Uh. The Times I think."

He sifted through the pile and pulled out a few thick papers. "Last week's Sunday edition in there too."

Erica ripped a few pages from the pad of paper and passed them to Peter. "If you read _anything_ you think even slightly relevant, or odd, take a note of it - don't forget to write the title, date and page number, so we can find it again."

"Yes sir!"

But Erica was already sitting cross-legged on the floor, newspaper open in front of her, head down. Peter spread his lot out on the table. For a few minutes it was quiet apart from the rustling as pages turned.

The silence was broken by a snort from Erica. "Oh m'god, I can't believe some of this stuff!"

"Like what?"

"This piece about a fashion exhibition of torn and splattered t-shirts, $10 jobs - deconstructed and now priced at $400! And people buying them too!"

Peter stared at Erica. "Are you serious? You find that wacky? Man, you are so not from New York City!"

"Sor-ry! It tells me something about the city though - self-absorbed and a poseur."

"Who said otherwise? What's that got to do with Doc Ock?"

"I got distracted, O.K?" She went back to flipping through the papers. Stopped and wrote something down.

"Um, Pete?" She looked up at him.

"Yeah?"

"Why were you at the Moroney Clinic that night anyway? Was it by chance?"

"Nooo, there'd been a succession of burglaries of science and medical labs, so I was keeping a watch on a few that hadn't been hit. Call it lucky I was at the right place at the right time - or at least I thought I was."

"Did you make a list of the labs that got hit?"

"Didn't have to. I remembered them. There were three; a virology lab, a pathology lab and a medical research facility attached to Empire State U. Why?"

"There's a wee article in this one about another one. This is more recent than the Moroney Clinic."

"It might be a pattern. Let's see what else we can find."

Heads down, the two got into the newspapers again. The 'done' pile became larger until finally there were no more papers to be skimmed. Almost two hours had passed.

"Well, what have we got?"

"Not much," admitted Erica, "It's not really the way - you only find information that's been reported and printed. What about all the stuff that's not reported? You might find more on the 'net too."

"I get your drift." Peter stood up and stretched, looked down at Erica still sitting on the floor. She was quite comfortable even after a couple of hours sitting in the same position. Then he smiled at her. "I read through the Bugle - including today's edition. And guess what? You get an honorable mention."

"What, in the Bugle?" Erica was sarcastic.

"It must have been that crowd you pulled during one of your fights last night. Listen - 'We have an account of Spider-Man pounding a few low-lifes early last evening. Reports of his demise have been premature it seems. Mr Joe Chirio who witnessed the action said that Spider-Man had never appeared in better form. "I tell ya, he never hesitated - bam! And those guys were twice his size!" Some people are easily impressed'." Peter quoted.

Erica snorted in disgust. "That's a back-handed compliment."

"That's about standard for the Bugle if they can't find anything else to say. Take it with a grain of salt. Everyone else does these days. "

"Well, I guess 'Ray Man' and his associates know you're still around now - but they don't know that you're me." Erica paused, aware that she was sounding silly, "Or that I'm you? Crikey, that sounds bad! I wonder what action they'll take?"

Peter shrugged. "Who knows? But I don't think you should wait for action to come to us - we have to find it first."

"Fair enough," Erica nodded, "Any other bits from the papers?"

"Just more of that mystery virus that's been in the news for the last few weeks - Senator Ennis has been struck down with it."

"I have two different accounts of mystery viruses as well" Erica interrupted, "Two businessmen who were about to close a deal with the NY Transit Authority on the new tunnel, and a real estate developer called Dick Knowles, who lives over on the East Side. They're from Wednesday." She added.

"Ennis went down Thursday. But I also had one from Sunday - a homeless man found in a coma, no cause. Yesterday's paper had three new reports of the virus, and more coverage; some people are beginning to get worried. They'll be remembering the Anthrax scare. There's even a quote from our friend Dr. Whithead: He's confirming it as an unknown virus, but not likely to be the result of any terrorist activity. Speculation on the cause? That it's related in some way to the East Nile virus, or even something uncovered during the digging across town."

"Is that likely?"

"No. Not if it's a virus. It wouldn't survive that long. Not like anthrax spores. It must be some other source."

"You had a virus…"

"The same one?" Peter paced in front of Erica. "Maybe I had a mild dose. There may be others who have caught mild doses as well, and think they had the 'flu. That wouldn't get reported."

"No, I didn't notice anything about an increase in 'flu cases. It would take a while before that sort of statistic was published anyway. Can you ring up the Public Health Department or whatever it is you have here and ask them?"

Peter only laughed.

"Well, how about talking to a…what do you call those doctors who deal with infectious diseases and the like?"

"An epidemiologist?" suggested Peter.

"Yeah, one of those." 

Erica suddenly leapt up to a standing position from sitting in one fluid motion. "Oh! An epidemiology lab was the one that got broken into on Monday. Here's a stretch of the imagination for you - could the burglaries and the virus be connected? A virology lab got hit also. What if the virus got taken - either by mistake or on purpose - and then was released?" Erica was getting excited with her deductions. 

Peter calmed her down somewhat by putting his hands on her shoulders. "All that was _reported_ as stolen in the other break ins was equipment. It wasn't specific. That doesn't mean to say nothing else was taken as well. You could suppose there was an undisclosed culture that was being worked on. People would be reluctant to talk… but I think it's extremely unlikely that there's a connection. Let's just work with what we have." Peter took his hands off Erica. She ran her fingers through her hair, making it stick up even further than it usually did. She was still agitated. Peter watched her.

"I think we need to go out," he said, "Get some fresh air. It'll be lunch soon." 

He turned and fetched his jacket off the back of his chair- the day was cooler than yesterday. Erica shrugged, picked up her backpack and followed Peter out the door. While he waited for the elevator this time, she bounced down the stairs, taking them six or seven at a time. She covered the eight stories in a couple of minutes, and waited at the bottom for the lift to arrive. 

"Beat ya!" she taunted when the gates opened. "Did you take the stairs often?"

Peter grinned at her enjoyment. "All the time, when not using the window. Nobody ever takes the stairs." Erica nodded. That figured, especially since there were mostly offices and studios in the old building.

Erica blinked as she went out the foyer doors - it was bright sunlight outside. "Where to?" she asked Peter.

"Thought we'd catch the subway uptown, go over the East side and show you where the Moroney Clinic is." He glanced sideways at Erica. "If you need to check it out later…"

"O.K."

They walked off companionably together. Erica enjoyed Peter's commentary - they had the same sense of the absurd. "Did you know," he was saying, "that one of our stations uses commuters to create music interactively?"

"No!"

"It's at 34th Street at 6th Ave. Hardly anyone knows about it. It'd be kinda neat to get a group of people down there one day to try it out."

They exited the subway at Fifth and 53rd. "We'll have to walk a few blocks."

"I don't mind!" Erica paced forward.

"Whoa!" Peter trotted to catch up to her. He grabbed her arm to slow her down. Without thinking, she had set a pace almost as fast as a normal run. It was as well that none of the passers-by had noticed. She slowed down to a walk. Erica pulled a wry face at Peter. How could she forget? 

The sun glinted off the facades of the tall towers and created odd refractions of light. This reflected up onto the pedestrians, giving them an almost ethereal glow. Erica felt more than ever like she was in some gigantic movie set. The air of unreality she had in New York was enhanced by this light. Not since her first couple of days in New York City had she felt that the experience of walking, of moving through the city was something that was happening to someone else. It was pretty bizarre, slipping into that hyper-real state as she did as Spidey… 

Erica stopped, realising with a shock that her spider sense was buzzing in warning. 

What was up? 

Up. 

She glanced up: a crane working on a construction site behind the building they were passing had swung out and lost it's load of steel, which was now hurtling towards the street, and them. Instantly Erica sussed out the surroundings; herself, Peter, a few other passers-by, cars moving on the street; one of them in the direct path of the beams. In the same instant as she took all this in, she acted. 

In a flash, she swept Peter and the pedestrians back up along the footpath, and before they even had the chance to blink, jumped over a parked car, and out onto the road behind the approaching car. Crouching low, so that she was hidden from the bystanders by the parked car, she seized the passing car by the bumper and held it. It stopped. 

The beams crashed down with a hollow metallic thud that echoed along the street. Erica let go of the stalled car and stood up to join the stunned on-lookers standing on the footpath. They hadn't even noticed her; the steel beams that now lay across the pavement and street had all their shocked attention. 

"Didya see that? What a close call!" 

"If I hadn't moved when I did, they woulda squashed me!" 

"Holy! My guardian angel must be watchin' out fer me today!"

Erica grabbed Peter's arm and drew him away from the small crowd gathering. A white-faced construction worker ran past them to the crowd. They heard him say "Thank God no one was hurt!" but didn't turn back themselves. They walked along the street for about a block without speech. Then Erica stopped and leant back against a tiled wall, feeling shaky.

"Whew, that was close!" She sagged a bit. "Did I do all right?" she asked. She had taken a risk going into action without a costume, but there was simply no time, not if injuries or death were to be avoided. She noticed Peter had sunk down beside her, his head between his knees. She could see how his hair was curling at the back of his head - it needed cutting. He was taking a few deep breaths. 

"Are you all right?" Erica was concerned. She hoped Peter wasn't suffering from shock. She needed him to be stronger than that, and, well, she thought that given his past he would be used to such things, even inured to them.

"Yeah, I'm fine. " Peter mumbled at his feet. He looked up at Erica and smiled. "It was just… you were great. I'd forgotten how quick your reaction time could be. That was the shock for me. I… I couldn't do that myself now."

Erica turned her head away from Peter. She could see he was… not exactly jealous, not self-pitying, but that and something else, a mix of conflicting emotions. 

"We're working towards getting me back home…" she said hesitatingly.

Peter stood up and in a step was in front of her. "Honestly, I'm fine," he said, "You took a risk there and it turned out well. I couldn't have done better myself." He paused. 

Erica turned to look at him again. "I'm proud of what you did there," he uttered quietly and sincerely. Erica felt a tight lump in her throat. She smiled.

"Thanks Pete, that means a lot coming from you."

"Hey, I said we'd work together on this, but if I'd known this would happen, I couldn't've wished for a better partner. C'mon, we've still got a way to go." They set off walking again.

"Tell me about this neighbourhood," asked Erica, as they moved into an area of once genteel apartment blocks - some still that way, and others converted into soft commercial use; lawyers' and doctors' rooms. You'd have to earn a pretty decent salary to afford to live or do business here, she thought.

"I think in the 1870's it was slums, or undeveloped. Then someone - Mr. Sutton I expect - planned to make it an upmarket place to live - especially Sutton Place right on the East River. Thing is, they had great views of Roosevelt Island, only then it was known as Blackwell's Island and it was covered in prisons, workhouses and insane asylums. Very salubrious. So it didn't really take off until the 1920's. Still a good address, though a bit snooty. Did you know that one of the few private roads in Manhattan is in the area?"

"Is that right?" Erica gazed up at the wall of apartment buildings. She smiled with amusement as she compared these buildings to the equivalent era and status back home in Wellington. She could see just how different colonial architecture had been. 

"The next block is the Moroney Clinic," Peter pointed out. "It's somewhat different."

"What are we, tourists?" asked Erica.

"Uh, good idea. I shoulda brought my camera."

"Never mind. If anyone should approach us, I'll put on my broadest kiwi accent and ask stupid questions. 'Yeah, Gidday. What's a Moroney?'"

Laughing, they reached the building. Erica gasped. In the midst of pre-war twenty story apartments was an ornate red and ochre brick Victorian mansion. Classical figures acted as supports on the pilasters, small gargoyles sprouted from the corners of the spouting, and acanthus flourished on terra-cotta panels set into the brick. The free-standing town house was set back from the pavement, and even had a strip of garden in the front of it. A wrought iron fence surrounded the front and sides of the clinic, with gates set in the front entrance and at the side. A small driveway that once had been a carriageway entrance leading to stables, went down the side between the clinic and the smaller 12 story building next to it which was the private hospital attached to the clinic. 

"How did that survive a wrecking ball?!" she exclaimed.

"Private wealthy owners who refused to sell?" guessed Peter.

The Moroney Clinic faced the East River, and from the way it had been placed it could be seen that once, before the area had become popular, there had been extensive landscaped gardens. Vestiges of these could be made out stretching across the street down towards the river's edge. This must have been a very unusual property even then, thought Erica. People must have come just to have a look. The buildings of Roosevelt Island seemed very close from here. It was not hard to imagine a group of grim Nineteenth century institutional buildings and the elegant house and gardens eyeing each other up across the river; the house flaunting it's wealth, money that the institutions could never aspire to. The sneering envy and the haughty disdain. 

"…"

"What?" Erica snapped out of her reverie. 

Peter patiently repeated himself, "The delivery was right outside the front entrance. I was unsure whether something would happen there or at the rear. The cupola on top was a good spot to watch from - or the roof of the hospital next door. The side entrance leads to a small courtyard with a couple of car parks and an outbuilding…"

"Oh, sorry, I wasn't paying attention before. What's in the outbuilding?"

"I didn't have a chance to investigate. Possibly plant machinery for the Clinic equipment."

"Hmmm." Erica noticed a burly security guard standing discreetly near the front vestibule. "Is he there all the time?"

Peter glanced over, then started strolling along the pavement up toward the bridge. "There was one there that night - it must have been him the raised the alarm."

Erica pointed at the bridge. "Do you think I should visit the Clinic tonight? I might learn something."

"You might. Let's go have lunch, head back - I may need to come out with you later to get some action shots now it's been in the paper about Spider-Man's return. JJJ's bound to want photos." He mimed holding a camera up to his eye and taking a photograph of Erica. She did a typical Japanese tourist type of pose; fore-finger to cheek coyly smiling. 

"That'd go down well!"

Laughing, Peter made a playful lunge for her, which she adroitly avoided. She laughed also - unless she let him catch her he didn't have a show, and he knew it too. They crossed the street to the corner of Sutton and 57th, and while Erica was chatting away about where they should eat lunch, she surreptitiously checked out the hospital building of the clinic on the corner. There was nothing really to distinguish it from the apartment buildings around.

"Let's find a hot-dog stand," suggested Peter, "Food outlets around here are too pricey. Or we could visit the food counter at Bloomies - they have enough samples for tasting that you could almost have a three course meal for free."

"What are we waiting for!"

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Next: Fly-by.

A/N: Please let me know if you pick up on any NYC stuff that's not quite right… it would help me heaps!

Cheers.


	12. Flyby

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Chapter 12: Fly-by

The little red light was blinking away on the ansaphone. Peter almost swooped on it. Somebody had rung and left a message! Maybe it was Aunt May - he should have given her a call before now. But it wasn't. "Peter, it's Mary-Jane. Can you give me a call?"

"I wonder what she wants," Peter mused, "I'd better call back now."

"I'll go out for a bit," offered Erica.

"No, no, it's O.K.," he paused. "By the way, thanks for giving us some time alone together yesterday…"

"Anytime. Though it did take me a while to disappear completely - did you know that Mary-Jane had hidden your costume?"

Peter grinned as he dialled the number. "Hey M-J, what's up?…no problem…" Peter glanced over at Erica on the couch. To his surprise, he saw that she had that still attentiveness that he recognised as the spider sense at work when there was a mild danger and she was working out where it was coming from. She was staring at him, or was it the phone…? "Whaddya mean, what am I playing at?… I was with you… perhaps the paper had it wrong, you know, the Bugle's not noted for it's accuracy… I… I can't… I don't think so… wellll… well thanks for your concern. When do you finish today?… I'm glad it went well, take care, Love you." Put slowly replaced the handset in it's cradle and looked unseeingly at it. He half smiled to himself. He never thought he'd be prevaricating trying to explain how he could be in two places at once. He usually had the opposite problem - how to explain where he was when he disappeared and Spider-Man appeared.

"Why didn't you tell her?" asked Erica, who had obviously guessed what the conversation was about.

Peter tried to explain. "I don't really know. I think she doesn't need to know, she's not only having a break from me, she's having a break from Spider-Man as well."

"Uh-huh," said Erica in a disbelieving tone.

Peter turned to fetch his camera, and grimaced. Why didn't he want to tell Mary-Jane? He came back with his camera and held it up to show Erica. "I have a camera I used to take shots of myself with but I can use something more normal for a change. It'll be a little weird, being behind the lens when taking pictures of Spider-Man."

"I'm worried that it'll be noticeable that I'm female…"

"Nah, I'll get the right angles, get some motion blur in there. They won't be as static as usual."

"What do you want me to do? Go somewhere and turn a few somersaults? Or if I cruise around looking for some action, how am I going to alert you when I've found it? It'll be all over by the time you arrive."

Peter told her. "You'll have to take me with you. Piggy-back or such." Then he laughed, suddenly amused at the thought of it.

"Right." 

Erica left the room and reappeared shortly afterwards suited up as Spider-Man. She stuffed her clothes into her rucksack and handed it to Peter. "You can put your camera in here too - you'll have to 'piggy-back' this." Peter shrugged it onto his back. This he was used to.

"Can you access the roof of this building?" asked Spidey. Peter nodded. "Right then, I'll see you there," and she left the room again.

Peter let himself out the apartment and climbed the flight of stairs to the roof-top exit. The door was locked, but he had a key as he was the closest tenant to the exit.

"Boo." Spidey was above him over the doorway. She back-flipped over his head and landed in front of him. "Your chauffeur awaits. Where to, Sir?"

"Let's head Downtown. South," he added for the non-native's benefit.

"South it is." She crouched down on the asphalted roof for Peter to clamber onto her back. "Hold on!" She sprinted for the edge of the roof top and was off into the air. Peter felt the brisk air rushing past his face and tugging at his hair - it was only a few days, but he was almost wishing he were Spider-Man again. He found himself anticipating the lines of web thrown out, their anchor points, and he was acutely aware of the differences in style; this Spidey seemed almost awkward at times. He put this down to inexperience, unfamiliarity with the city, and carrying an extra burden. This wasn't the route he'd choose to head south. Then he realised something. 

"Waitaminnit!" he shouted at where Spidey's ear was, "This isn't south!"

"I know! I thought I'd take a roundabout way - get to know the lay of the land better. Anyway, it doesn't really matter, does it?" 

Pete shook his head. Aloud he said "No. You're right!" I might as well sit back and enjoy the ride, he thought.

A few minutes later he shouted again. "Hey! Waitaminnit! Are you nuts? That's the Bugle building!"

"I know! I thought we might drop by for a chat…"

"No way, man!"

Spidey chuckled, and swung close by the building. "Just kidding!" she said. "But you might want to wave to JJJ and Robbie as we do a fly past!" With that she had them swooping past the large window of Jameson's office. "Smile!"

She gave a cheery wave, but Peter continued to cling on to her with both arms - he wasn't feeling that cheery. 

A short time later, when they had passed the building, Spidey swung them up to a roof-top. She needed to catch her breath she was laughing so much. "…and did you see his eyes? Ha ha! They almost popped right out of his head!" Peter frowned at her, but the corners of his mouth quivered and the next moment he was laughing as well. 

"You're evil!" he gasped.

"Well, at least that should clear up any of their lingering doubts whether you and Spider-Man are the one and the same."

"Gah, he'll probably give me hell about it when I go in tomorrow… Still, it was worth it, I think."

"O.K. Let's regroup - gotta get us a slice of action!"

Downtown, Spidey cruised around, both herself and her passenger keeping their eyes peeled for anything untoward. "You've got more experience in this," she shouted to Peter.

"Yeah, but you've got the spider sense," he shouted back.

"We should be about equal then!" she said flippantly. "So," she continued after a pause, "It's a bit quiet here - should we go somewhere else?"

"Lower East Side - down by the piers." Peter suggested. He wasn't cognisant of finding any criminal activity down there either - wrong time of day really, and crooks weren't stupid. Well perhaps they were. Sometimes. Maybe there'd be a purse snatching or something. Tourist areas were good for those…

Peter pointed down - he'd just seen someone furtively sneaking past the side of the Criminal Courts building. Spidey gave the thumbs up and swooped down and around so that she'd be the other side of the building. She off-loaded Peter onto the sidewalk, jumped up and crawled rapidly up the wall to a convenient vantage point. Peter scurried off across the street, dodging cars, to get his camera ready. He stayed back against the wall of the building and let the foot traffic pass, covering him. He couldn't see Spidey, but knew she wouldn't want to attract attention to herself before their prey arrived - she was possibly on top of the walkway. 

They waited. Peter shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He started taking photos of the towers and columns, and used his lens as a telescope keeping an eye out for Spidey. He started to wonder if he had missed something. Where has she got to? 

"Psst!" 

He looked up. Spidey was gesturing for him to move around the corner and meet her there. Peter quickly did so. There were less people here. Spidey dropped down, seized Peter by the waist and jumped off again. As the sidewalk receded beneath Peter's feet, and Spidey shot out a web line, Peter saw some of the people below tilt their heads to watch. A couple pointed. Peter could imagine the headline: Spider-Man Kidnaps Innocent Photographer.

"What happened?" he asked a moment later, when they were sitting in the shade of a roof top water tower.

"Nothing. The guy looked like he had some legit business in the building - maybe he was involved in a court case." She sighed. "I don't understand it - my spider sense was tingling. What a waste of time. Did you have that happen to you often?"

"All the time. Um - usually there was some sort of reason for it - though I ignored my spider-sense at the time. I've been caught out in the past by relying on it." Peter stopped, then gave a short self-depreciating laugh "Not that my native wit was any better just then either, huh?"

Spidey chuckled. "Oh well. What now?"

"Back Uptown. I could still get some generic 'Spidey-travelling-through-the-streets-of-our-fair-city' shots for Jonah. He may be happy with those."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would he be happy with photos of Spider-Man - why does he keep buying them? I've always wondered…."

Why does he? Peter had no real answer. "…I think he likes to keep tabs on Spidey, wants to know what he's up to, tries to see any opportunity to put in a bad word. He's…not a fan of Spidey's. He's not a fan of me either, but he knows I'm his only link to Spider-Man. Keep tabs on me; keep tabs on Spider-Man. I think that's his motivation. Works as well as any other as far as Jonah's concerned."

"It's amazing he hasn't worked it out yet."

"Yeah, there's been plenty of opportunity, but I've always managed to patch things up to avoid disclosure. Although…. I'm pretty sure Robbie has his suspicions."

"He was pretty amused when I asked about the sources for the Spider-Man articles - I thought he was just amused at my naivety, but perhaps he was amused because I was your cousin and…. I wonder if he thought I knew or not??"

"Well he'll be less amused about it after today!"

"Word!" chuckled Spidey. Then she said, "How about a series of photographs: Spider-Man and famous landmarks of New York City? Show me on the side of skyscrapers and bridges. Shall we start with the Empire State on the way back Uptown?"

Silence. Peter pondered the idea. Was it too silly? "Well, I could take them; whether they'd ever be bought is another issue - J.J would probably grumble they belong in a women's magazine and demand an interview as well. Spider-Man telling 'why these are my favourite places', or some such. Oh I suppose they'd come in useful if 'a follow-up to 'Webs!' was ever published." Peter grimaced and stood up. "Come on, Let's get going."

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Next: Sprung!

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A/N: It's taken me a while to update, but they should be a bit more regular after this.

Cheers!


	13. Sprung!

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Chapter 13: Sprung!

Whistling as he came down the steps two at a time, Peter was happy. He'd shot off a couple of rolls of Erica as Spider-Man, and was positive that when he developed them, he'd have a number of good shots. She had dropped him off back home before heading out to cover an area she hadn't gone before. "I want to familiarise myself as much as possible with the environs - reading maps and memorising them is O.K, but unless I know them physically as well I could still get lost. I don't want to be constantly dropping down at street corners to check out signposts." 

Fair's fair. He shifted Erica's rucksack to one shoulder so he could take the apartment keys out of a side pocket. Going in, he had a sense of deja vu; Mary-Jane was seated on the couch again, as she had been the previous afternoon.

"What is this?" he laughed, "Developing a new habit of dropping in for an afternoon coffee? I thought you were on your way back…"

"I cancelled my flight. I wanted to see you again."

"That's very gratifying. Coffee?" Peter dumped the rucksack on a chair and headed into the kitchen. "I'm frankly surprised though. What else brings you back - besides my handsome face?" Mary-Jane's eyes were not on Peter's face. He followed hr gaze - she was looking at Erica's rucksack. Peter's happy mood abruptly vanished, as if it were a balloon that had been stuck by a pin.

"Several things," she replied, "I figured I was more likely to get a few answers from you in person. For one, there's something funny about your 'cousin'. How do you know she is who she says she is? What if she… what I'm saying is, I think you have to be more careful. You left your costume in the bathroom yesterday - what if she had walked in and seen it? I take it she doesn't know about your extra curricular activities. I'm also not satisfied with your explanation of last night. What _is_ happening there? The truth this time…"

'If this was one of Erica's comic books', thought Peter, studying Mary-Jane's face while she waited for an answer from him, 'right about this time…'

There was a thud and a knock at the open window and a pair of booted feet, followed by a couple of legs and then the rest of a spandex-clad body shot into the room and landed with a flourish on the lino. Peter dropped the kettle he'd been holding on to the counter in surprise. As the red-and-blue costumed figure raised itself to standing, he recovered, and knew the game was up for himself and Erica. He got the feeling he'd shortly be in big trouble with Mary-Jane. Erica was right; he should have told MJ earlier.

Mary-Jane's eyes narrowed, and she looked from the figure, and then past it to Peter in the kitchen. Peter heard the figure say "Bummer" under it's breath, before it folded it's arms across it's chest. It stood there, with it's large eyes on Mary-Jane.

"This is your 'cousin', right?" Mary-Jane asked Peter, "Did she get bitten by a radio-active spider too? Or perhaps she's a female clone of you…" she finished sarcastically.

There were two simultaneous sighs. Peter winced at the last remark as he picked the kettle up, put it on to boil, and came out into the living area. He wondered why Erica's spider-sense hadn't warned her before she torpedoed in. He shifted Erica's rucksack onto the table and sat down in the chair it had vacated. "I guess this won't sound any weirder than some of the things you have heard…" 

"Try me."

Peter motioned to Erica to sit down. She hesitated. Peter wondered what she was going to do. She went towards the other wooden chair, taking off the Spidey mask as she did so. She laid it on the table next to her bag. But instead of sitting in the chair, she 'sat' halfway up the wall. Her black eye and fat lip were painfully obvious.   


"…trying to get her back," finished Peter. He watched Mary-Jane watching them both in turn, her long red hair swinging as she moved her head from side to side. 

"You've really lost your powers?" she asked, almost incredulously.

"Yep. All gone. As you can see, Erica's got them."

Erica spoke for the first time - she had been silent while Peter explained the situation to Mary-Jane. "Only temporarily I hope. Though it's taking longer than I expected."

"Take all the time in the world, I sure don't mind." She set her clear green-eyed gaze on Erica's face. "You don't look like you're too good at dodging yet."

Peter winced again, this time on Erica's behalf. He took a breath to defend her, then let it go; Erica was capable of defending herself, even if she did sport a black eye. Anything to deflect Mary-Jane's attention away from him. Ironic given that a couple of days ago he was wishing for more attention from her.

Erica's face stayed still. "Verbal attacks I can deal with - physical attacks I'm fast learning to. So, what's your problem?"

The two women confronted each other, bodies tense, eyes not leaving the other's face. The whistling of the kettle behind was increasing in intensity as well, adding a sort of descant to the scene. Peter worried that there'd be an all-out argument, he hoped it wouldn't escalate into a fight - Erica might forget her strength, and he didn't want Mary-Jane hurt at all. But as the kettle's whistle reached it's climax, Mary-Jane dropped her shoulders as the tension left her body. She gave a little laugh. 

"Attitude," she said, "You could almost be a New Yorker!" 

"Well, I know what 'TriBeCa' stands for, but I'm afraid I'd get lost in the subway."

"Coffee?" suggested Peter again, raising his eyebrows and pretending that an altercation hadn't almost taken place. 

"Thanks." Mary-Jane sat down on the couch again. 

Erica hopped down from the wall and said "I'm going to change - back in two shakes of a dog's hind leg." She headed off to the bathroom, taking her bag from the table as she went.

Holding an empty coffee cup in one hand, Peter gave a questioning look at Mary-Jane. She sighed. "So how are you really?" she asked. 

"Bearing up. How are you?"

"Confused. I don't know whether to be glad you've lost your powers, or sad. We've been through it before, and I thought everything was going to work out for us at last, but it didn't happen that way."

"No, it didn't." agreed Peter.

"And if it is only temporary this time…"

"It looks likely."

"…then I shouldn't get my hopes up, should I?"

"Well, I'm torn too. I could take this as a chance to retire, but… it's not only up to me." Peter put the mug down, and took a tea-bag out of its cardboard box. He poured hot water over it and left it to brew for Erica. The coffee was perking away. "Erica's been handling it, sort of, up to now, but… I don't know how I'd convince her to take over."

"You could just not find the way to get her back home - if she can't get back she'd still have the Spider powers - and you won't."

"I still think she'd prefer to go home… she couldn't stay for real long anyway - she's an illegal alien."

"Who's an alien?" Erica was back, dressed in a shirt and jeans. Her feet were bare. She padded into the kitchen squeezing past Peter and fished the tea-bag out of her cup with her fingers. She dropped it into the sink, poured milk, and came out into the lounge again where she leant against the door to the apartment, wrapping both hands around her steaming cup. 

"You are." Peter poured the coffee. He saw Erica pull an expressive face of disgust.

"I feel like one too. I'm not in my own skin anymore. I'm trying hard to fit into this new one. Spirited away unnaturally from home, dumped in a strange place where I know no-one, people around with bizarre abilities, me gaining unusual strength, reflexes and senses, sticking to walls… living a fiction. It's at times surreal, unreal."

Mary-Jane looked at Erica with interest. Peter could see her considering Erica's viewpoint; She was so used to being around the spider powers, that to find them in context with someone else who hadn't lived with them for years must give her a new perspective on them. And maybe, a new perspective on him too.

"I never… we were just kids when Peter became Spider-Man. I didn't know him then, but I can imagine it was different for him to begin with… Did you feel alien?" Mary-Jane turned and asked Peter.

"Nah, it was strange, but exciting - lots of fun… for a while."

Silence. Peter could hear the tap dripping into the sink . The noise of the traffic, which was normally like so much aural wallpaper, came drifting in through the open window. He stirred, about to change the topic, but Mary-Jane beat him to it.

"So," she asked Erica, "What are you going to do if… when you do get home again? You'll've been gone for a while. Would you be on the missing persons list?"

Erica stared into her mug. "I hadn't thought. I dunno how I'd explain… The police'd be suspecting foul play, with my bank account untouched and all… Maybe no one's missed me - my Mum lives the other end of the country, my Dad's dead, work'd be pissed off but not worried, and my friends… they're used to me hibernating - I can be rather insular."

Mary-Jane looked at her hard. "Are you _sure_ you and Pete aren't related?"

She raised her head and chuckled. "I don't have any cousins, but I'd choose Peter for one if I had to." She looked at Peter. "How about it, Pete? Will you be my Courtesy Cousin?, my cuz?"

Peter felt a peculiar sensation in his chest. It was as if a tightness he hadn't noticed was slowly loosening, spreading outwards. He caught his breath in a sort of hiccup. "With pleasure, Cousin Erica." Being able to choose your relations, to choose to have a cousin - Peter found he was grinning like an idiot. He glanced in Mary-Jane's direction and was relieved to see that she was smiling as well. He was glad it was all out in the open now - nothing hidden from Mary-Jane. He should have remembered how perceptive she was.

The perceptive woman was now picking her bag off the floor and donning her jacket. She was relaxed and poised once more as she passed her coffee cup to Peter. "I gotta go - plane to catch." She said. Peter's face fell. 

"I…I thought you said you'd cancelled your flight?"

"I had. But I also booked a later one. I'd better go now if I don't want to miss it."

"But…"

She placed a hand on Peter's arm and leaned forward to give him a brief kiss. "Ciao, Tiger. I'll call you later, we've still got things to discuss. Take good care of your cousin, and don't beat up on her too much - people might start talking." She winked at Erica, who grinned back and moved away from the door. They faced each other again, this time without the animosity. Mary-Jane held out her hand and she and Erica shook hands. "We may not meet again," she said, "but I wish you luck." She turned and gave a wicked smile as she went out the door. "You'll need it!" was her passing shot as the door closed.

Erica threw back her head and laughed. Her laughter was infectious, and Peter found himself laughing too, although quite frankly, he was puzzled. How could she find that funny - how could the two women be friendly with each other when so short a time ago they had almost been at each other's throats? Women.

When Erica finally calmed down, wiped her eyes and took a deep breath, she asked Peter "What now?"

He shrugged, "I dunno. Dinner?"

"Yeah." 

"Whaddya gonna do later - you truly gonna case out the Moroney joint?"

"Yeah, too right mate."

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Next: "We were right…"


	14. We were right

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Chapter 14: "We were right…"

Spidey perched on the darkened rooftop of an apartment building and peered into the darkness below. She could see the cupola of the Moroney Clinic, but it was lit up, and would not have been a good spot to remain unseen. One of the ledges down the side of the building she was on may do. She cautiously crawled down the side, keeping in the shadows as much as possible. She was unsure where the security cameras were, but she didn't want to take the chance that they pointed up at the hospital wing of the clinic. When she had reached a level where it was easier to see details below, but still unlikely to be spotted, she settled comfortably cross-legged and prepared to wait. She shivered a little; it was a wee bit chilly now night had fallen. She watched a security guard make his rounds; about every ten minutes, he appeared around the corner of the old house and walked up the drive and into the courtyard. 

The courtyard was lit directly by one light, set under the eaves at the corner. Because she was far enough above it, it didn't obscure Spidey's view of the courtyard area. Indirectly, lights from the surrounding buildings shone into the space, creating a darker gloom in places. Spidey could see that the guard wore a holster at his hip - she'd take a long time getting used to cops wearing guns, that is, wearing them so openly. Not like back home… 

Another figure approached - another guard, taking a breather and a smoke. Their voices floated up to their unseen observer. 

"Quiet night?" said one.

"Yo," replied the other, taking a pull on his cigarette, "Watch out for da creepy-crawlies outta da tunnel - I saw one tryin' to escape."

"Ah, you're so full of shit, Man."

"Yeah, I gotta have a dump real bad."

"I bet."

"Watch it all da same; dere mus' be some reason why we gotta guard dat door…"

"I was told it was because of those recent break-ins."

"Yeah, right!"

The guard on patrol chuckled. "I reckon it was Spider-Man dropping in on them the other week. Scared the shit out of them."

Up on the wall, Spidey grinned to herself under her mask.

"Yeah, old Web-head is real scary - gotta make sure he don' get past me!"

"Like you are now."

"Yeah, well." The guard nervously took one last drag on his smoke and threw the butt onto the ground behind him. Then he quickly looked around and picked it up again. In the light, Spidey could see a flash of fear cross his face as he did so. "I betta dispose of dis proper - don' want any hassle." He went through a door in the outbuilding without a farewell or backward glance at his mate - Spidey could just see a slice of light vanish as he shut the door after him.

__

"Interesting," she thought.

The original guard continued on his rounds. Spidey debated with herself how much longer she should stay - she had no idea what the time was, except late. Nine more of the Ambulatory Gun's rounds. That should give her about an hour and a half. 

She watched Amby pass under the light five more times, started wishing she had something else to do, or at least an mp3 player or something so she could listen to music while she waited. She shifted slightly, then froze. The slice of light from the door had appeared, and the shadow of someone standing in the open doorway was spread out across the asphalt of the courtyard, framed in the light. The figure stepped forward and the door closed behind it. As it slowly came nearer to the corner light, Spidey could see that it was a large man, wearing a trench coat and sunglasses. Sunnies at night? How cool…_not_. 

Then she bit the inside of her lower lip to stop herself from gasping - for under the open coat, she had caught a glimpse of steel - a titanium-steel appendage. More appeared from inside the coat, snaking about in a sinuous yet purposeful way before they at once retracted under the coat again. 

So, that was Dr. Otto Octavius. In real life, in the shadows, he was a daunting figure, menacing even; quite different from the slightly ridiculous character - looking like an Elton John gone to seed - portrayed in the comic books. She really hoped she wouldn't need to fight this man - now she had seen him, she could imagine what those arms were really like. Was he, or his metallic arms, the creepy-crawly the guard had talked about? 

Dr Octopus walked down the driveway, buttoning up his coat as he went. Spidey decided to follow him, see where he went. Quietly, quickly, she scrambled up to the roof again and across to the street side. Doc Ock was already around the corner and heading down 57th Street, his head turned to watch the road and the cars approaching. 

As she followed above him from rooftop to rooftop, Spidey supposed he was on the lookout for a taxi. He hailed one and eased his bulk in through the cab door. Spidey sighed. Although there was enough traffic that the taxi would not be speeding through town, one yellow cab looked much like another - she hoped she'd be able to track it without losing it. She remembered the spider tracers, but they were something that never struck her as amazingly practical - you had to be close enough to your target to get the tracer to attach to them and if the wrong person got hold of a tracer they could use it against you, but perhaps attached to the taxi? Spidey knew she'd have to get closer to the vehicle to throw a tracer at it, and that she had to do it soon, before the cab reached the high density traffic areas midtown. 

Hoping like hell that the Doctor was not looking behind, Spidey swooped down on a long line of webbing, threw a tracer and swooped back up again. Back up high, she studied the cab for any signs she'd been spotted. Nothing. She still couldn't afford to drop back too far behind; if the cab stopped and disgorged its passenger, she might not notice and end up following an empty taxi. 

She followed the taxi across town along East 57th, until it reached 5th Avenue and turned down into it. Spidey wondered where they were heading - she wasn't lost as such, but didn't have her bearings until they passed the Empire State Building. As they kept going down 5th Ave, Spidey hitched a lift on the roof of a van a few vehicles back from the cab. She kept her body low and hoped she wouldn't be too noticeable up there but she needn't have worried, no one paid the slightest attention to her. Up ahead, she could see a huge triumphal arch, like the arc D'Triomph in Paris. She had no idea what it was called - at this moment she felt keenly her lack of New York knowledge. 

Eventually, the taxi slowed and stopped outside a group of buildings just before they reached the arch and it's surrounding park. Spidey rapidly leapt from the van as it passed and into shadows at the side of one of the buildings. She crawled up to the roof of the low building, and was in time to see Dr. Octopus emerge from the cab after he had finished paying his fare. He stood on the footpath, surveying the buildings before he went up the short flight of steps to one of them and knocked on the door. It was not long before his knock was answered and he went inside.

Spidey was curious - where was she, and what was inside the building. Cautiously, she lowered herself down on a web line and upside down, read what was written on a board attached near the front door: Administration, Department of Biomedical Engineering, Empire State University. Empire State University. Peter Parker's old stamping ground. What business did Dr Ock have with them? And on a Saturday night too… But first of all… Spidey dropped down into bushes at the side nearest the cab, and shot out a thin string of web to snare the tracer just before the cab moved off again. She felt relieved to have retrieved it.

Up on the roof again Spidey sat, pondering what she had heard and seen so far tonight. She decided it wasn't worth waiting for Dr. Ock to come out again - she'd head back and talk to Pete.

This time, Spidey crawled down from the roof and peeped in at the open window before bowling in - not that she expected anyone else to be there this time, but knowing that relying on her spidey-sense sometimes put her in awkward situations, best to make sure… 

Peter was still up, sprawled out on the couch watching television. It was some sort of game show, where the contestants were competing not for prizes, but jobs. The host was at least equally insulting to both contestants, belittling their attempts to show their skills in their chosen professions. The audience participated in the destruction of the contestants' confidence as well. You could almost see the desperation of those people who had chosen to attempt to gain employment by appearing on such a programme. Erica removed her mask, and just stood there watching too, bemused and horrified by the idea. Then the ads came on, and she still stood watching. She had never seen anything quite like it. 

Peter sat up with a little start when he saw her there - she had been so silent coming in, and he himself had been engrossed in the show, that he hadn't realised she had returned. He grinned to himself at Erica's wide-eyed mesmerised stare at the TV. He got up and waved his hand back and forth in front of her face. She snapped out of her vacant state and focussed her gaze on Peter instead. "I've never seen anything so… so… _crass_!" she exclaimed. This time it was Peter's turn to be bemused.

"What, don't you have TV in New Zealand?"

"Yeah, but not like this." She replied, flapping her gloved hand at the television. She stopped. "Though it's getting closer, I must admit - we've got some of your talk shows on air, Jerry Springer and so on."

"You mustn't watch them then, if you think this is crass," laughed Peter.

"No, I don't," admitted Erica, "I spend my evenings at home reading, or on the 'net mostly." Her eyes strayed again to the TV in the corner, where the audience was now voting which contestant should get the job. With an effort, she returned her attention back to Peter. 

"How come you haven't got a computer? I meant to ask when we were doing our research this morning - the Internet's a great tool for that sort of thing."

"Can't afford it. I use the access at work, or the public library if I need to."

Erica looked around the shabby apartment, noticing the state of it again, the second-hand furniture reminding her of her student flatting days. But even then, working part-time to pay for fees and rent, most students could still afford a computer - having one was almost a course requirement nowadays. 

"You big fraud." she commented.

"True!" Peter protested. "Manhattan is not a cheap place to live. It would be more affordable if I moved in again with Aunt May - and I've had to do that at times in the past - but you know the reasons I've had to live here…"

Sighing mightily, Erica started stripping off her gloves. "Yeah, I know."

"Learn anything?" asked Peter.

Erica told what she had seen and heard that evening as she took off the web shooters and inspected them. She looked across at Peter on the couch, and saw he had an almost resigned look on his face. She could only guess at what he was feeling at the news.

"So," he said, "You were right about Doctor Octopus being involved…"

"Not really," interrupted Erica, "All we know for certain, is that he is around again, and up to something. But in all fairness, it could be something totally unrelated to Spider-Man's loss of powers - it really is only speculation and hunches we're working from."

"That's usually been the case - usually what I've worked from. Anyways, I don't see what else we can do. We have nothing else _to_ work from. You can't just put an ad in the paper: Wanted - Ray-man. Please reply to box 123. Or cruise the streets in the hope that he'll suddenly appear for a reprise. And besides… if Doc Ock is up to something, we've got to find out what it is… he's dangerous…"

"O.K, I can accept that he's dangerous to cross, especially after seeing his arms. But does he have to be 'up to something'? Megalomanical madman he may be, but whatever happened to 'innocent until proven guilty'?"

Erica watched Peter's eyes become hard in a grim face. Whoops, she'd upset him now.

"Look," he said quietly, "I'll excuse you this time - this convinces me that you really are from an alternate universe - but don't make the mistake of underestimating Dr. Octavius. He _is_ dangerous, and not only when crossed. He is also insane. He does a good job of concealing his madness, but nonetheless, he is mad. He is _always_ 'up to something'."

"Sorry," apologised Erica. She stood up from the chair she'd been sitting in, intending to go have a shower. She should have censored herself - she had forgotten for a moment there who she was talking to - of course he had had the first-hand experience of dealing with Dr. Octavius; _she_ had only read about him. She tried recalling all that she had read - yep, he was a bad'un all right. Definitely one of the worse ones Spider-Man had to deal with. 

"Sorry," she said again, "I forg… I mean, I didn't realise _how_ dangerous he was… _is_."

Peter regarded her seriously. "I wonder if you still do," he said eventually. "In a fight he is a tough opponent, not only because of his arms, but his intelligence too. You not only have to be super fast, but you have to use your own intelligence."

"Exploiting his weaknesses?" suggested Erica. She recalled something of the kind happening in the past.

"He hasn't many." 

Erica stared at her booted feet. "I don't want to fight him," she said at last.

"No, I bet you don't." Peter heaved himself out of the couch and put his hand on Erica's shoulder. "Don't worry, cuz," he said gently, "We'll try not to get into a situation where you have to - we only have to get Ray-man, or his alter-ray - if we can do that, then _I'll_ do the fighting."

"Ummm, I'll go have a shower now, if you don't mind."

"Why should I?" Peter removed his hand, and Erica left the room, feeling almost depressed.

She could see more complications arising the longer she was here, the longer she had to act as Spider-Man. It was just not as simple as she had initially thought it would be. Erica ran the water for her shower, adjusting the taps until she got the right temperature - hot. For one thing, she didn't have the same motivation as Peter - that of getting home was good enough for impersonating Spider-Man for a while; getting into small scraps, even though, she only half admitted to herself, the fighting still terrified her - but to continue the role and fight big-time super-villains…? She just didn't have the motivation for that. Erica shampooed her hair and rinsed it. She didn't particularly want to acquire the motivation for that sort of thing either - how screwed up would that make you? Look at Peter, constantly feeling guilty and trying to assuage his guilt… She reached for a towel and started drying herself off. Mind you, she supposed his mantra wasn't too bad as a motivating force. It was repeated often enough in the comics: With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility. Yeah, that'll have to do. She knew she could do it, she had the power - now came the responsibility part of it. Erica pulled a shirt over her head. It was more than just getting home, she realised. While she was here, she had to do this task. 

She opened the bathroom window, and went through into the bedroom, a cloud of steam billowing out behind her. The door into the living area was open as she had left it, and she went through to find the TV off and Peter sitting at the table with a bottle, a jug of water, and two small glasses. He had obviously been waiting for her to come out, as he had not yet opened the bottle. 

Erica inspected it as she came nearer, vigorously rubbing her hair with the towel to dry it. She let the wet towel drop onto the lino as she sat in the other chair and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to flatten it down a bit. Peter was twisting the cork out of the bottle - a single malt whisky. 

"Lagavulin. You _are_ a fraud!" Erica had regained her normal cheerful state. Peter was apologetic.

"A gift from an admirer," he said, referring to the whisky. "I hope I didn't upset you before…"

Erica was surprised. "You upset me? I was annoyed at myself - for speaking without thinking and upsetting you!"

She watched the golden liquid glug into a glass as Peter poured it. He sloshed a bit of water into it and pushed it across the table to her, then poured some of the same into his own glass. "Well now, now that the little family misunderstanding is cleared up, let's drink a toast."

"Who to?" asked Erica, picking up her glass and taking an appreciative sniff.

"To Spidey! May his webs never grow shorter!"

Erica giggled. "To Spidey!" she repeated, and they clinked their glasses together and drank. Erica sighed as she felt the whisky burn down her gullet. She took another sip, relishing the peaty finish. She noticed Peter had taken a small sip of his and had then set his glass back down on the table. "Must've been some admirer," she said appreciatively, "This is good stuff." Peter wrinkled his nose.

"I only opened it because there was someone else to drink it - hate the taste of whisky."

"What, a good Islay malt? Pete doesn't like peat? Profanity!" Erica teased, then more seriously asked, "Do you think I should call the Department of Biomedical Engineering tomorrow and see if I can find out what Doc Ock was doing there?"

"You can try, but I don't think you'll get far."

"Oh, why's that?"

"Tomorrow's Sunday. They'll be closed."

"Oh." Erica took another sip. "How about on Monday then?"

Peter shrugged. "If you think you'll get anywhere." 

"I've got to try anything. Actually, I'd like to get inside that tunnel, see what's in there."

"Could you do it without being seen? Oh, stupid question." Peter continued, seeing Erica grin at him. "Still, I think we'd have to find out as much as we can before we attempt that." He stood up, picked the wet towel off the floor. "I'm off to bed. You can finish off my whisky if you want. Sleep in in the morning, mebbe we'll go to brunch later." He smiled at Erica as he went through the bedroom door. "Sleep well."

Erica sat finishing her whisky and thinking. She didn't feel like having any more, and although she felt it was a waste, she tipped the contents of Peter's glass down the sink, and rinsed the glasses out before placing them upside down on the bench. She yawned suddenly. Her lack of sleep the previous night was finally catching up with her. As she spread the blanket out on the couch and changed for bed, she hoped she could achieve something tomorrow to bring them closer to their goal. 'Maybe…' She sighed.

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Next: Hot Coffee


	15. Hot Coffee

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Chapter 15: Hot Coffee

Spring was without a doubt, in the air. It was mild and warm, and although the forecast for Monday was rain, as yet there were no clouds to be seen. Erica and Peter strolled down the sidewalk on their way to brunch. Apart from the weather, Erica found it hard in the middle of the city to see signs of spring. The air certainly wasn't fresh, not with the exhaust fumes of countless vehicles travelling slowly through the streets. And unless they passed a small square or park, there were no patches of greenery along the way to indicate the season. Erica pointed out one lone tree in blossom. "When I was in Central Park, you really could tell that it was spring by the vegetation. It's harder to tell in the city." 

"Not really," said Peter, "You get to notice subtle changes when you've lived here for any length of time. Besides, no one could possibly mistake a New York winter or summer."

Erica thought of something else. "If New York was in New Zealand it would be a lot harder. The climate is more temperate in Wellington, and the native plants are mostly evergreen." She laughed at the image in her mind; the towers of Manhattan slapped into the centre of Wellington. "Imagine it; the buildings would be taller than the surrounding hills. It would be very impressive."

"I've never seen photos of Wellington," commented Peter. 

"It's got a lovely harbour, and the city is nestled in a circle of hills. But," and here she laughed again, "Spider-Man'd be no good there! There'd be, oh, about three streets max, that he could web-sling down, if he didn't get caught in the trolley bus wires on the way."

"It's a problem, all right."

"Where're we going?"

"A place up Seventh Avenue called Café Europa. I like it, and it has a decent cup of coffee."

"Hmmph." Good coffee equalled bad tea. There was always orange juice…

The café had recently had fully opening bi-fold windows installed, and on a mild day like today, with the fine weather, they were opened up for the enjoyment of the customers. Quite a number of those eating also had a copy of one of the Sunday papers in front of them. A Sunday ritual for some people, guessed Erica. They got a table set further inside the light and airy café away from the windows. Erica was rather relieved at this; car fumes and food didn't mix in her book. And she knew she would be able to get relieved later, when she saw that the café also had toilets for it's patrons. What was it with the dearth of public toilets in this city? 

"Oh! Look at the ceiling!" exclaimed Erica as they sat down. She had only now noticed the wonderful trompe l'oeil effect. She leaned back in the purple wicker chair to get a better look.

"Yes, great isn't it?" agreed Peter, "You could say I notice ceilings a lot…"

"And walls… and roofs…" Erica was admiring the orange walls and copper highlights of the café's decor.

"Gargoyles," added Peter.

"Where?" Erica spun round to face Peter. He laughed. 

"Not in here. Out there." He waved a hand in the general direction of the city. 

Erica stared out the windows as she finished her tumbler of chilled water and poured herself another, half in a day dream, ogling the crowds of people passing by. They were a colourful lot, dressing in their new Spring fashions in tribute to the day. The scene was bright and cheerful, and put Erica in a relaxed pleasant mood. All she needed now was some food… 

The street was busier now then it had been twenty minutes ago when they entered the café. Peter had told her the only reason they had been able to get a table so soon was their timing; arriving before the rush at twelve-thirty. 

Erica soaked in the atmosphere and the sounds of the café - customers talking, funky music playing in the background, the clatter of cutlery against crockery - as she watched the people at some of the other tables: a group of guys, sitting by the window closest to her, obviously sports fans who were about to attend some game - they were dressed in their team's colours, black and pale grey, and Erica caught snatches of a chant every now and then, as they raised their voices; a couple sitting at the next table purposely not paying any attention to each other - either they were in a snit with each other, or they were so comfortable they didn't feel the need to talk to each other. Erica watched the way the woman held her head, waves of hair falling just so, and the set of her peachy lip-sticked mouth and decided it was the former; a man sitting by himself further inside, with his back to the wall and with just a cup of coffee and a newspaper spread out on the table in front of him, eyes darting up when somebody moved, as if he were waiting for someone; another couple, trendy and out to be seen -what were they doing in this café, then?; a table with two women friends animatedly chatting, one talking just as much with her expansive hand gestures as with her mouth. 

There was a sudden loud rumble close by, that wasn't a truck or bus passing. Peter looked up astonished. "What was that? Was that your belly rumbling?" Erica placed a hand on her tummy to try and quieten it and nodded in embarrassment; she was hungry! Luckily for her stomach and her peace of mind, their order arrived promptly. 

The waitress handed across large plates, platters really, loaded with food. Erica eyed her huge breakfast of French toast with bananas, bacon and maple syrup. Her tummy growled again.

"All right, all right!" she told it laughingly, "I'm feeding you, see?" And she took a large bite of the French toast. Peter laughed as he ate his own brunch of a BLT sandwich. Erica finished her second glass of water. 

"I'll have to go into work this afternoon, at least for a while," Peter was saying as Erica continued to eat. "I want to develop and hand in those photos I took yesterday, so there's something for the morning's edition." He had his camera on the table.

"O.K." mumbled Erica with her mouth half full, "Maybe I can use the Bugle's Internet account to do some research…" She was thinking of Doc Ock and Columbia U.

"Sure."

They munched in silence, Erica intent on shovelling her food down, especially while it was still hot. She paused, looking up uneasily. Peter caught her expression. "What's up?" he asked.

"Not sure…" She continued eating, but half a minute later put her knife and fork down with a clatter. "Excuse me," she said to Peter as she pushed her chair back and stood up, "I've got to visit the ladies - all that water…" She walked to the back of the restaurant to the toilets. She pushed open a cubicle door - she really did need to go, but she was also acutely aware that her spider sense was warning her that something was not quite right in the café. She was pleased to note that fortunately, there was a small window high up at the back of each cubicle. Quickly stripping, she rolled her clothes into a ball which she wrapped round with webbing. 

Taking her chance, she climbed up, opened, then shimmied out of the window and up the outside wall. Leaving her webbed-up bundle on a ledge, she rapidly climbed up, then crawled around the corner, where she could see the street and the crowds. She wasn't picking anything up from her spider sense from them; it was centred inside the café. She crawled down and scanned inside the café through the top of the large street frontage window. She saw Peter sitting at their table with his camera ready, turning his head this way and that as he tried to figure out what was going on - he had guessed that it was more than a comfort stop she was attending to… 

What else was different? She concentrated on her spider sense - she was getting better at using it now, which was just as well. Honing in… the man in his thirties who had been sitting by himself at the back, was slowly moving towards the front of the café, towards one of the tables by the window. Spidey's sense intensified. 

Still she watched. 

The man put his hand into his coat pocket, approached the table of sports fans, and gradually began to pull something out of his pocket, his gaze fixed upon a florid man wearing a cap and scarf. 

This was it. 

A gun pointed and aimed. 

This time… 'thwip!' A strand of webbing attached itself to the gun and yanked it out of the surprised man's hand. This was quickly followed by Spidey herself leaping through the open bi-fold windows into the interior of the café. She landed behind the man, and quickly secured his arms behind his back. The group at the table jumped up out of their seats, tilting their table. All the cups, plates, newspapers, knives, forks, spoons, cellphones, sugar, salt, pepper and food crashed to the floor in a huge sticky confused jumble. The suddenness of the action had most of the people eating in the café out of their seats as well. Only one man was calmly sipping his coffee while taking a few photographs. 

The restrained man started screaming obscenities at Mr. Florid, straining against Spidey's hold. "You *&%# son-of-a-bitch! I'll get you, you'll die, you #^%*$%!"

"Tut, tut," said Spidey, "Whatever would your dear mother say if she heard you using language like that?"

It was Spidey's turn to get sworn at. 

"No," she replied, "I don't think she'd say that." 

She didn't really want to hurt the guy… she looked around café, wondering what to do next with her captive. Spidey took a quick glance at Peter, who, hiding a grin, made a barely discernible motion with his hand. Spidey almost sighed with relief. 

"O.K, time to wrap it up", she said, and proceeded to push the man into an empty chair and web him to it, he still swearing copiously. A splash of webbing suddenly appeared over his mouth. "It's not soap, but it'll do for now." 

Spidey took a couple of bounces towards the window. "The floor show's finished folks; enjoy your brunch!" And with a wave of her hand, she leapt out, and when a couple raced up to the window to see, Spidey was already web-slinging on her way up the street.

When Erica stepped out of the bathroom a couple of minutes later, staff were busy cleaning up and righting the tipped over table. The friends of Mr.Florid were supporting him as he had become quite pale and shaky; Erica would be surprised if any of them stayed around to finish their breakfast. The wicker chair with the captive webbed tight to it was being skirted around and people were pretending the man was invisible, even though his eyes were still fixed on his intended victim and the chair gave little jerks, scraping on the floor as he tried to move. 

The rest of the customers were back at their places, and the noise level of the café was considerably higher, with all the excited chatter going on. The woman who had been animated in talking to her friend before was now almost falling out of her chair with the exuberance of her gestures. The couple who had not been talking to each other were now engaging in conversation, the woman had relaxed and Erica even saw a slight smile on her face. The trendy couple were sitting at their table as if it was all cool, but Erica could see that their faces were flushed - with suppressed excitement, she guessed. She smiled to herself - well, she had brightened up _someone's_ day.

She came up to the table where Peter still sat, finishing his coffee. "What happened here?" she gasped, "Did I miss something?" She sat down as Peter replied straight-faced.

"You just missed Spider-Man. He didn't put on much of a show though - took a gun off a guy and left."

"Small beer, I guess. Golly, I'm still hungry." She looked down at the remains of her breakfast on the plate. "Oh poo, it's gone cold." Nevertheless, she took up knife and fork again and worked on polishing it off. Eventually she placed her cutlery neatly together on the plate and sat back in her chair, feeling replete. Peter watched her with wry amusement. 

She glanced over at her captive. "I wonder what all that was about?" she mused out loud.

"You don't want to know. Trust me." Peter replied.

Erica grunted. She saw his point. "What happens to him now?" The question became redundant even as she uttered it. The wail of a siren was audible as a patrol car rounded the corner in the street. It pulled up outside the café with a sort of despairing moan as the siren wound down and stopped. A small crowd, who hadn't been aware of the initial action, gathered to watch. A policeman and a policewoman got out of the car, the policewoman talking into a RT as they stepped across the pavement into the café's premises. Erica watched with interest.

The duty manager, a small woman with long hair tied back in a pony-tail, came out to meet them. After a few words with her, the police began questioning witnesses, starting with the fans and Mr. Florid. The female cop spent quite some time with them, speaking in a low voice and writing into her notebook. The male cop in the meantime was working his way around the room, questioning the other customers. They both ignored the gunman. 

When the policeman reached their table, Erica had to admit she hadn't seen a thing; she was in the toilet the whole time. He was a tall man, about mid-thirty, with a lanky build; his black hair under his cap was tightly curled, and his skin was like shellacked copper. Erica liked the way he was at ease and laid-back - his manner reminding her of some kiwi blokes back home. For some unaccountable reason though she was nervous; given that she had just disarmed a fellow, she was very aware of the cop's gun in it's hip holster very near her head. She kept shooting sideways glances at it. 

The cop caught her glance. He chuckled. "You're a visitor to New York, aren't you?" Erica nodded. "Where're you from?"

"New Zealand."

"Ah. Cops there don't wear pieces, do they?"

Erica shook her head, swallowing.

"Don't worry about it; we only use them if we need to." He moved so Erica could see he had another holster on his other hip. "Cops in New Zealand don't have these either, do they?"

"What is it, another gun?"

"Nnhn-nhn. Taser. Puts 50,000 volts through a fella and stuns him long enough to cuff. No injuries or long lasting effects. There's even an Air Taser that can work from up to 21 feet so you don't have get in real close - can go through two inches of clothing too. Ah, listen to me! I'm sounding like an advertisement for them - still, they _are_ a great tool. What a shame though, you lucked out on seeing one of our visitor attractions." He was rather sarcastic about this. 

Erica decided to play the innocent tourist. "Why, don't you like him? I thought Spider-Man was a hero?"

"Oh yeah, hero all right. He waltzes in, clocks the bad guys, and then leaves us to clean up the mess." He waved at the webbed up gunman. "It's cursed stuff - how're we gonna take him in like that?"

"Oh. I hadn't thought of that." She was dumbfounded. Peter was no help, sitting there with a hand supporting his chin and a silly smirk on his face. Erica knew that he'd heard it all before. Still, she had to try and defend her new alter-ego to this policeman… "But doesn't he try to help, you know, fight crime and all?"

The policeman laughed, his white teeth a contrast to his skin. "Lady, I'm joshin' ya. Spidey's fine. He does his thing, we do ours. Though some folks, including other cops don't see it that way. I wouldn't be in his place for anything." He turned to Peter. "What did you see, Sir?" 

Peter took his chin off his hand and answered, "Everything. I was looking out the window when Spider-Man arrived. I saw the perp with his hand in his pocket out the corner of my eye, then fully noticed him when he pulled a gun out and aimed it at that table. Next thing the gun was gone, Spider-Man was there, and it got a bit chaotic." He paused. "The gun is probably stuck outside above the window." Erica noticed he had put his camera away.

"Is that so?" asked the cop with a raised eyebrow. Erica squirmed slightly in her seat; it was only pure luck that the gun was there. She hadn't wanted to throw it into the street where anyone might get it, and she had nowhere else to put it. "We'll be sure to check it out," he said to Peter. He turned once again to Erica as he prepared to move on. "Enjoy the rest of your stay, Ma'am. Maybe you'll get to see Spider-Man yet."

"Maybe I will," she agreed, smiling up at him.

"And be carefull where you go - you don't want another black eye!"

Erica smiled again, as she touched her eye. She had almost forgotten about it - her lip was all healed, and there was only the faintest bruising around her eye. One thing the spider-powers gave her was fantastic recuperation from injuries.

The police finished up with the witnesses and stood by the chair where their prisoner was securely attached. "This chair's not gonna fit in the back." 

"Perhaps we can cuff him to the chair as well, and come back in an hour when the webbing wears off," suggested the policewoman. 

"Yeah, good idea. C'mon, let's do it and go."

Erica was amazed at how quickly business returned to normal after that. If it wasn't for the odd addition of a man webbed and cuffed to a chair, it might never have happened. "They didn't even read him his rights,." she commented to Peter. 

He replied, "They'll do it when they pick him up later. Have you finished?"

"Yeah."

"Let's take a stroll down to the Bugle Offices."

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Next: Everyone's Favourite Editor…


	16. Everyone's Favourite Editor

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Chapter 16: Everyone's Favourite Editor…

How was it that Peter keeps coming back to work here, Erica thought as they walked through the Bugles offices. Peter separated from her and snuck off to the darkroom, hoping, she suspected, that Jameson wouldn't notice him. He was in luck. Erica, who didn't have any of the same worries, made her way towards the library. She had to pass near Joe Robertson's desk to do so. He was there, working at his computer terminal. 

"Hey, Erica!" he greeted her with a smile. Erica smiled back; Robbie was a genuinely nice guy. 

"Hi, How's it going?" she asked.

Robbie motioned to the spare chair by his desk. "Got a few minutes?"

"I've got heaps." She sat down and crossed her legs, happy to chat for a while. 

"Good. How's Peter been treating you?"

"Pete? Oh, good. He's been very good to me, showing me around and putting up with me. It's nice to have a cousin I can get on so well with, y'know? You can pick your friends, and not your relatives, but I've been lucky…"

"Speaking of friends… You know that Peter has… a special friend?"

"Who, MJ?" asked Erica, deciding to be obtuse. She knew perfectly well who Robbie was referring to.

"No. I mean Spider-Man."

"Oh, him," she said smiling. She could guess where this conversation was heading, and she found herself being tickled at the thought of a little fun.

Robbie eyed her for a moment, and Erica could see he was wavering between seriousness and amusement. She guessed _someone_, no prizes, had put him up to this. "Has Peter… introduced you to him?" he said mildly.

"Yes he did!" Erica acted enthused. "Yesterday. Spider-Man saw Pete taking photos and came over to us. That was so exciting. I've never met a super-hero before, eh. We don't have any in New Zealand, unless you count Peter Jackson…" Robbie smiled at this, as Erica continued. "He said he was glad to meet me, and offered to take me for a swing above the city, but… I've never been a fan of bungy jumping or anything like that… so I passed. Peter went though." She almost laughed when she saw the expression on Robbie's face; she could imagine the one on Jameson's on being told the same thing. 

"Has… " Robbie hesitated. "Has Peter said anything about who he is?" 

She shrugged. "He doesn't know." Erica pretended to be uninterested in the idea. Then, dropping a little gem as if in afterthought, "I asked Pete how he met Spider-Man."

"What did he say?" asked Robbie, leaning forward on his desk, showing a keen interest in the answer.

"Well, you know how Peter's a little… clumsy at times? And always running late?" He nodded, waiting for her to go on. She took her time, mainly because she was making it all up as she went. "Well, apparently Spidey rescued Peter one day when Peter was running late for a class; he stepped over the edge of a foot-bridge, toppled over." Erica demonstrated Peter falling with one hand, and Spider-Man rescuing him with the other. "Spider-Man noticed Pete had a camera with him and they got to talking. Seems that Spidey wanted someone to take some photos of him, and Peter obliged." 

"How does Peter get in contact with him?" Robbie was pushing for further information while it was forthcoming.

"I dunno," replied Erica. "I don't think he does - it's more t'other way round. And Pete's pretty lucky…" 

Robbie was silent for a moment, taking it all in. Erica waited patiently, amused.

"You know…" he said, "We… I used to think that Peter Parker was Spider-Man…" He trailed off as Erica at last let her underlying hilarity escape and burst out laughing.

"You got to be joking! Peter Spider-Man?" She wiped tears away from her eyes. "He'd fall off buildings, not stick to them. He'd be Squashed Spider-Man!" Robbie grinned, and laughed, half embarrassed. 

"I know he's not. I know!" he said, putting both hands in the air for mock peace.

Erica calmed down. She figured she'd done her bit now - there should be no trouble for Peter from this quarter about his identity for a long time. Sincerely and with absolute honesty, she stated, "Peter doesn't have a single super power in his body."

Robbie nodded his acceptance of her statement. "So, what brings you in here on a Sunday anyway? More research?"

Erica grinned, "Work related this time, believe it or not. I'm teaching myself some of the history of New York, the better to answer enquiries. And besides, Peter wanted to come in to develop some photos…"

"Ah," responded Robbie, arching his hands together and sounding wise, "Young Mr. Parker. We'll no doubt see the results of his labors in due course."

"With Jameson as his boss, he probably feels less like Hercules and more like Sisyphus," she said, getting up. "Nice talking to you again Mr. Robertson." And she left, leaving a thoughtful-looking Editor-in-Chief behind her.

Once in the Bugle's library and alone, she entered her password into the terminal and opened a browser for the Internet. She shook her head as she did so; she still couldn't believe that Peter didn't have a computer. She started a search for Empire State University, and had to shake her head again. Here was a fictional university that actually existed, and what's more, appeared to have existed for over a hundred years. There was no such institution as New York University. She hadn't even thought to look that up in the public library earlier in the week. 

Now, Biomedical Engineering… ah, there. 

Her hand hovering over the mouse, she began reading the screen. 

'_…Mission - to develop functional grafts that have the ability to direct cellular responses …maintain long term functionality when introduced into the body…_' 

'Hmm, interesting.' Erica searched further for a while, then she minimised the browser and accessed the Bugle's own database. She was hoping to find more on Dr. Octopus, some hint of anything useful to her. Nothing, except reports of his various captures and escapes from the authorities. She should try and discover something tonight, but what should she do? Go back to the Moroney Clinic and try to get inside the tunnel? Or go to the ESU, see what the Biomed Engineering Dept had in store? Argh, this was getting as bad as one of those 'choose your own ending' books she used to read as a kid. Probably better to go to the Uni - any information at all would help before having to possibly face Doc Ock…

She turned in her chair on a sudden thought, and scooted over to the photo cabinets. The other thing she needed was a map of New York, and photographs of the streets - that would help her get a visual fix on her location when she was out and about. Major landmarks helped, but there were others which were undoubtedly well-known to New Yorkers that she didn't know - like that arch last night. That was the Washington Arch in Washington Square. 

Erica spent a happy hour or so having a virtual tour of the city courtesy of the Daily Bugle, which only stopped when Peter came into the room. 

"Do you know what time it is?" he asked.

"No, I don't have a watch any more…"

He pointed at the clock above her on the wall.

"Oh. I forgot about that. What have you got there?" She noticed he was holding a manila folder in his hand. 

Peter came up to her and opened the folder up on the desk. It contained prints of the photos he had taken the day before. "I thought you might like this one to keep yourself," he said, pulling one out from the bottom. It was a photo he had taken on timer so that he and Spidey were in it together, standing side-by-side with their arms over each other's shoulders. Erica laughed.

"That's great!" she said, "Thank-you. It'd make a choice momento of all this once my life gets back to normal." She had a thought. "But aren't you going to give one to Jameson, as proof?"

Peter gave an unhumorous laugh. "He'd claim it was all faked up or something. Wouldn't be proof at all to him. I was on my way to his office now, to give these ones to him. I've gone through and vetted them first, so they're all safe."

Erica started looking through them, amazed and half disbelieving. Was that really her? There she was in action, looking like…. _Spider-Man_. It hit her just how much she had changed gaining the powers. The professionalism of the photography was excellent too. She knew what a tough job it must have been to get shots of her that didn't look like a _her. _Near the bottom of the pile she paused, delighted. There were shots of her in action at Europa. 

She grinned up at Peter. "Will he use these?"

"Maybe. He can be a spiteful old coot. If he feels affronted at all by yesterday's little demonstration, he may decline them just like that."

Erica jumped up out of her seat. "I'll come with you," she declared. "Moral support and all that."

Peter swept the photos back into their folder and picked it up. "You can come if you want, though I've done without the support for a long time now."

"Now it's you who's getting affronted," Erica touched his arm. "I didn't mean it that way."

He looked at Erica's hand and sighed. "I know. I… I dunno, I've only now realised I wouldn't want this to be my job if I don't…"

"I understand," Erica said gently, removing her hand. "I hope it doesn't come to that." 

Their eyes met. Each knew exactly what the other was thinking. Or thought they did.

A still smouldering cigar flew past Erica's head as she entered J. Jonah Jameson's office behind Peter, it's intended target. Jameson's aim was completely off - Peter hadn't even tried to duck it - but Erica surreptitiously caught it all the same. She didn't want anything catching fire. 

"Parker!" yelled the big man, "What blasted tom-foolery are you up to now?" Jameson advanced on Peter until he was face to face and jabbed his finger at him. "You encourage that slimy web-head friend of yours with your brain-dead antics. Whaddya tryin' to do, have a short life and rob me of the only photographer who can get me decent pics of that masked menace?"

Erica, now standing to the side of Peter, watched amused as he didn't even flinch at Jameson's blustering, but took it in his stride. He wiped his face with his sleeve and said mildly, "Don't spit, it's unhygienic."

"Why, you…!"

Peter stepped back and brought the folder up in front of his face as a shield. "I don't have an umbrella; these photos will have to do instead."

"Photos? What photos? Gimme that!" 

Jonah swiped the folder out of Peter's hand and stalked over to his desk, where he thumped into his swivel chair with a glare at Peter. He lifted his other hand as if he were about to replace his cigar in his jaw and chomp down on it, but looked in surprise at it when he found it was empty. Erica quickly stepped forward and held the cigar out to him. She was rewarded with her very own glare before he snatched it and stuck it in the corner of his mouth and pointedly ignored her as he shuffled through the photographs. 

Erica stifled a giggle; J.Jonah Jameson _was_ funny, even if unintentionally. It was kind of sad too, how he was exactly the same after so many years, still banging on about Spider-Man in his own personal vendetta. Erica would have thought his character to be at least slightly different from the comics, but no. 

The scowl on Jameson's face gave nothing away, as he shoved the photos back into their folder. The scowl turned it's attention to Peter and became more pronounced. "You trying to pull a fast one here, bucko?"

"Huh?"

"I've seen a million photos of this creep, and this ain't him."

"What do you mean? Of course that's Spidey," objected Peter. 

Erica could see that Peter was worried - had Jameson really figured out that it wasn't the original Spider-Man? She was apprehensive too until she became aware that her spider-sense was absolutely quiet. So. What was it that got Jolly Jonah all het up? 

She moved around the desk and opened the folder to look at the pics again, this time with a critical eye. Then she got it, just as Jameson replied.

"Well, maybe it is, but your photography stinks - these are blurred!"

Erica laughed, earning her another glare.

"What's so funny, Toots?"

Peter protested at the same time, "That's motion blur - I had the camera on a slower shutter speed to try and get the impression of how fast Spider-Man is." 

"Well, it's certainly a new take on him - what made you change your modus operandus, Pete?" Erica looked back at him, in silent laughter. Jameson fumed.

"These are no good anyway - I want something to put in a newspaper, not a woman's magazine! Spider-Man prancing around on buildings ain't gonna sell papers." He stood up and leaned both fists on his desk. "Now go and find that costumed creep…"

Erica interrupted him in mid-rant. "What about the ones at the bottom?" She pulled them out and held them up in front of his face. "That was only a couple of hours ago - that's news, isn't it?"

"Well, at least it shows him doing something: 'Spider-Man Molests Innocent Diners'. Not front page stuff, but it'll do." Jameson smiled ferally, and straightened up. "But get something newsworthy if you want to get paid!!" he roared at Peter Parker.

"Our cue to leave." Peter smiled at Erica, ignoring Jameson's last comment. 

Out of the office, they walked together towards the lift. "I dunno whether his smile is worse than his bark…"

"He's certainly creative. What a headline!"

"Oh, that's nothing. You shoulda…"

'_ping_'. 

The lift doors slowly slid open and as they moved to get in, they were roughly pushed aside by a small man in close-fitting grey who came barging out.

"Hey!" exclaimed Peter, but the man had already disappeared through the reception area and into the main office. At the same time Erica whirled around, her spider-sense tingling.

What was the matter with him? As the doors of the missed lift closed behind them, she reached up to whisper urgently in Peter's ear. 

"There's something _wrong_ about him! Do you think…?" 

In reply, Peter grabbed her by the arm and went hurriedly towards the stair exit. 

"We'll take the stairs," he said loudly for the benefit of anyone who might have been listening, "The elevator _stinks!_"

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Next: The Midget who Took Manhattan


	17. The Midget who Took Manhattan

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Chapter 17: The Midget who Took Manhattan.

Through the door, he showed Erica the caretaker's closet, and shoved her in with a "Get changed in there and out the window. I'll go back and pretend I forgot something. I've got my camera on me… See ya soon." He took off. 

Erica didn't waste another second. She was out that window so quickly that Peter wouldn't have had time to get back through the stair exit door. Rapidly she crawled along to the open window of Jameson's office, and peered in from the side at the tableau that presented itself. She had Spider-Man's miniature camera out after Peter's remark about his camera, so rapidly took a few shots - Peter might find them useful later. The strange man might be little, but he had Jameson pinned in his chair by his throat and was about to punch him in the face. 

At that moment, the door burst open, and Peter went flying in. "Forgot my umbrella!" he was saying, then stopped short, as if in shock at what he was seeing. Jameson's assailant lowered his fist and turned to look, but kept his grip on JJJ's throat.

It was just the distraction Spidey needed. In she leapt, so that her feet connected with the side of the guy's head before he knew it. He let go his grip and went sprawling over the top of Jameson's desk. Spidey was already springing off the far wall and coming back to seize him. 

Sensing that he was about to slug her one in the head, but moving too fast to totally avoid it, she twisted so that he only managed to hit her shoulder. She rolled off to the side and sprung up again on a different wall as the little man jumped over the edge of the desk and crouched there to face her. 

She was shocked that he had recovered so soon from the initial kick; although she hadn't put a lot of force behind it, it should have been enough to put any normal man out of action for a while. And then there was his blow - she could feel her shoulder where it connected - he was a hellava stronger than he looked. 

Out the corner of her eye, she could see Robbie staring in through the office door window - did she imagine it, or did he look relieved to see her there? That was the least of her concerns at the moment - this fight was aiming to be tougher than she thought. 

"Well, well, if it isn't the Midget who took Manhattan. What's your problem? Jolly Jonah finally published one too many Mr Big stories?" Spidey hoped to get the little guy riled enough to charge her, but he was obviously waiting for her to make the first move. 

In the meantime, a cowering Jameson had crawled under his desk, and was blustering at her. "What are you waiting for, you idiot? Get him!"

Spidey sighed; this she needed like a hole in the head. "You big girl's blouse. Ever thought of renting your mouth out for a car park?" she told him, before suddenly leaping backwards off the wall to land behind the assailant and wrap her arms around his. He must have anticipated such a move, because he flipped her over his head in a judo move, dislodging her. She was on her feet facing him again before she touched the floor. 

She could see Peter crouched down hugging the wall and moving slowly with his camera aimed, ready to get the best shots. 

'Hmmm, this guy's no push-over, but I haven't really been thinking - time to put my spider-powers to better use.' 

Immediately she sprang into action again. This time she bounced and flipped around him with dazzling spider-speed, reaching under his guard to land punches and kicks and not letting any of his attempts to punch her connect. 

Papers and photographs flew off into the air, flapping like demented birds in the wake of the fast-moving figure. She was still pulling her punches - she hoped she could subdue him without resorting to anything more powerful.

As she fought, she kept up her banter, ignoring Jameson as much as she could; Peter she'd forgotten about. 

"So, Midge. May I call you Midge? Ol' pointy-head here's not my favourite either, but even I don't go about tryin' to shut him up for good." 

Still not a peep from the little man. 

Spidey continued, "I feel we know each other well enough now, to say you're no visual symphony. I've seen better looking heads on a glass of beer." 

Silence. "Take it easy, short stuff. Don'tcha know that all the extra exertion could stunt your growth? Oh, I forgot - it's too late for you!" 

She dodged a fist. 'Oops, that one almost got me.' Spidey could see that at last she was getting to him. 

He opened up his mouth and made a strangled gurgling sound. 

Spidey paused for a split second in shock - the man had no tongue! 

Unfortunately, that split second was all he needed to get in a good walloping blow to her jaw. She tumbled over and landed up against the side of Jameson's desk, lay there for a couple of seconds to clear her head and recover herself. 

She heard Jameson shouting in her ear, "You pathetic pantywaist! Stop taking a nap…" but he stopped as she leapt straight up in the air onto the ceiling to avoid a head-long rush from Midge. Jameson's head disappeared quickly under his desk again. 

Right, thought Spidey, time to end this. She dropped down from the ceiling in front of Midge, and using both her speed and her strength, laid into him with a knockout punch to the chin. He went flying back across the room, and fell against the shelves by the door, narrowly missing Peter on the way. 

The shelves collapsed under the impact and their contents dropped over the recumbent form of the little man. Spidey sighed in relief and walked over to check him out - she wanted to make sure he really was out - which turned out to be the case - and to see if he had any ID or other information about his person. 

Nothing. Apart from a curious, small sharp knife, sheathed, with a black handle and a blackened blade. Why hadn't he pulled it out during the fight? She dropped it back in the pocket she had found it in. Spidey was puzzled. Why would someone go to this trouble to attack Jameson? She'd have to ask him. 

She noticed the person in question crawling out from under his desk and standing up, glaring at her. 'Oh boy,' she thought, 'he's going to blame me for everything.' Quickly, she wrapped the unconscious attacker in some webbing, then bounded over to the outside window. She stopped there as Peter stood up, cradling his camera to his front, obviously about to ask Jameson the same question that was on her mind. However, Jameson turned his back on him before he could get a word out, and instead lashed into Spidey with his tongue.

"Look what you've done! You're a menace, Webhead! You trash my office and threaten me, and…"

Spidey stood impassively, arms folded across her chest, listening to Jameson carry on raving at her. He suddenly paused, wondering at her continued silence. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" he jeered. Still silence, but moving so fast that the motion was a blur to the others in the room, Spidey moved her hand and 'thwip', a splodge of webbing covered JJ's mouth.

"Nope, but a Spider's got yours!" she quipped. "Later, Parker. Don't forget your umbrella!" Spidey waved to Peter and rapidly exited through the window, leaving Jameson tearing at his mouth.

Shortly thereafter, Erica walked into the office. "Pete, I've been waiting for ages, what's been keeping you…" she trailed off and opened her eyes wide as she surveyed the damage to the room. "Holy Hannah!" She turned her head to Peter and was tickled to see him wince slightly at her exclamation. But he held up his camera to show her.

"I got it all on film," he said, "Spider-Man saving Jonah's life."

"Uerghh!" Jameson scowled. He started shuffling through the crumpled papers littering the floor, searching for something. 

"Why did that man attack you?" asked Joe Robertson, who had also entered the office after Spidey's departure. Jonah growled; he couldn't speak through the webbing. Erica groaned to herself - she'd got carried away as Spider-Man, a bit of a miscalculation there and now Jonah couldn't answer any of their questions. He knew it too, and was, for Jonah, relatively calm about his situation. 

At last he grunted; he had found what he was looking for. He held up his cigar with relish and was about to replace it in his mouth, when he paused with an absolutely flabbergasted expression on his face; he couldn't smoke his cigar either. Erica giggled, but Jameson didn't notice - he was literally hopping mad. 

Robertson attempted to calm him down. "The police should be here soon - I called them as soon as I saw what was happening." He turned to Peter, "You can't leave now - they'll want a word with you as the main eye-witness." Peter gave a small rumbling noise from his throat and Erica could imagine he was almost wishing he were still Spider-Man and could make his exit without talking to the police.

But he said only, "I'll be in the darkroom developing these pics. The police'll want copies no doubt, as well as the Bugle." Erica followed him out. No words were exchanged until they were safely shut up in the darkroom with the red light showing the door was not to be opened. Peter set to work as they talked.

"I took a couple of shots before I went in," said Erica, handing over the miniature camera.

"Great. We'll have the whole thing on film then. Who was that attacker? I can't recall him…"

"He had no tongue!" exclaimed Erica, "That's what made me slow down for a sec."

"I wondered about that - you were doing real well up to then. I could see he wasn't an ordinary hood." 

Erica touched her jaw gingerly. "This will be another big bruise to add to my collection…" Then she giggled, "Jameson called me a pantywaist! What sort of thing is that?"

"That's only fair; you called him a big girl's blouse."

Erica giggled again. "I can see why Jonah-baiting is one of your favourite hobbies. Still can't let anyone harm him though," she continued, becoming serious again. 

"I agree. Looks like Spidey's going to be busy from now on, but first we'll see what Jolly Jonah has to say for himself once the webbing wears off. Not the smartest move, by the way."

"Tell me about it! JJ obviously hadn't noticed the guy's missing tongue though, making that comment."

"It wouldn't have stopped him if he did; he's not exactly the sensitive sort, our Jonah…"

Erica went on to tell Peter what she had found out via the computer earlier. "…And I thought I'd drop in at the university tonight, see if I can find someone who'll talk to me. I dunno whether Spider-Man's the best person for that…"

"Try Dr Connors, he's bound to still be there on a Sunday evening. He has time for Spidey and if he's heard anything he'll share it. And he may not say anything if he notices you're female; he's used to strange things happening to me."

"Actually, I'm amazed no-one has noticed anything already. I mean, I haven't exactly been operating in silence, in the dark and too fast to be seen clearly, like we thought I'd do. But even Jameson didn't pick up on it back there."

"Well.. you _act_ like Spider-Man. Like I said - people see what they expect to see."

"I wonder how much longer I can get away with it…" She watched Peter in silence for a while, keeping out of his way as he worked. 

"This can be done pretty quickly now," he said as he started on enlarging and developing the prints from the prepared negatives, "but digital photography is fast overtaking. Labs in newspaper companies will be redundant before too long. In fact, there are rumours about the latest budget cuts…"

"Have you got a digital camera?" asked Erica.

"No money," he replied simply. Erica watched in fascination as images started to appear on the photographic paper as Peter gently sloshed the chemicals in one of the baths. Clearer and clearer became the pics of Spider-Man and the little assailant. In particular, the shot that Spidey had taken of the small man with his hand around Jameson's throat was crystal clear.

There was a knock at the door. "Two minutes!" called out Peter, hastily dropping the prints into the fixing bath. 

"O.K, you're safe to come in now."

The door opened and Robbie Robertson poked his head in. "Sorry to disturb you," he began, "but the police are here and would like to speak to you."

"Show them in, they'd be interested in seeing these prints too." Peter switched on the main light.

Robbie entered followed by a single policeman. Erica recognised him instantly; he likewise recognised them.

"You again!" he exclaimed humorously.

"What do you mean 'again'? There's only one of me!" retorted Peter.

The cop chuckled. "I'm Sergeant Bill Hudson. Mr Robertson tells me you're Peter Parker."

"That's right. I'm a freelance photographer with the Bugle."

"And you are?" he asked Erica.

"Erica Stirling. Peter's cousin, and visiting from New Zealand."

"That's right. The Kiwi chick." 

"Cute n' fluffy? Unh-uh, not me!"

"Did you get to see Spider-Man this time?"

"No, I'm afraid I missed him again."

"Third time lucky, perhaps." 

He peered at the prints that Peter was busy removing with a pair of tongs and hanging up to dry. "Yes, very interesting, especially that first one. How did you manage to take that?" It was the shot of the little man and Jonah that Spidey took.

"Lucky, I guess," replied Peter. He acted unconcerned. Behind the cop's urbane banter was a very astute man, Erica could tell.

"Well," said the detective, "It's pretty clear what happened from these. Spidey saved Mr Jameson's hash. But what I don't unnastand is why Mr Jameson has the mark of Spider-Man upon him also."

Peter laughed. "You'll understand once it wears off - should be any time now."

As if on cue, there was a roar from outside. "Parker! Parker!! Come here! You saw it - for once you didn't cut out! He attacked me, a deliberate, unprovoked attack! I'll get that weaselly wall-crawler…" Jameson caught sight of the policeman. "You!" he exclaimed, "What are you doing to rid the streets of that… that Spider-Man!" he spat out, making the last a dirty word. 

Hudson raised one eyebrow at Peter in amused understanding, before turning and leading Jameson back out. 

"Come and talk to me about it…" he said placatingly. The others followed.

Someone had been busy in Jonah's office tidying up the aftermath of the battle, and Erica didn't think it was Jonah either. The captured attacker was gone - taken away by the police, "…though I doubt we can hold on to him for long, even with the evidence we have; how do you book a guy without identity?"

Disappointment, Erica felt, must be Spider-Man's lot frequently. She guessed the police didn't like it any more than she did. 

"The man didn't have a tongue," mentioned Peter.

"Is that so?" Hudson was interested, "And there is the strange knife he was carrying also. Hmmm, we've had one other report of a tongueless man wielding a knife." He paused. "_His_ victim wasn't so lucky…" 

Even Jameson was silent after that remark.

"What is it, do you think? Some kinda cult?" asked Robbie.

"Starting to look that way," replied Hudson. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention the possibility of a cult, or the tongue and knife aspect in your paper."

"Are you curtailing the freedom of the press? I can write anything I want!" blustered Jameson.

"Go ahead then. But don't say I didn't warn you; we don't know why he attacked, he may try again since he failed the first time…"

Jameson changed tack abruptly, and started turning on his own brand of charm to the detective. "Just kidding!" he said, not convincing anyone. "We all rely on our boys in blue for _protection_ against this kind of thing. It's a sad world when you're unsafe in your own castle… but I'm sure you'll apprehend those responsible soon." Jameson paused, looking around at those gathered in his office. 

He sighed and took his cigar from his mouth. "Parker. I want to commend you. You ignored your own safety to take those pics - there's not many who would do that. Good man." 

He gave a sigh so massive, that it ruffled his moustache, then admitted as if it pained him, "Even Spider-Man showed some spunk for a change that I don't mind that he webbed me."

Peter's jaw dropped open in surprise. Erica couldn't blame him; J. Jonah Jameson praising both Peter Parker _and_ Spider-Man? Was it because of the irrefutable evidence of the photographs, or was he finally, slowly beginning to change his mind about the wall-crawler?

"M…me?!" Peter stuttered at last, when he'd recovered.

"Yes you, Parker! What more do you want outta me? A medal?"

"Some money?" suggested Peter. 

Jameson growled at him.

"Will I be needed any more, sir?" Peter hurriedly asked Sergeant Hudson. 

"Once you've given me a written statement, you're free to go."

********************************************


	18. Spidey Spying

*********************************************

****

Chapter 18: Spidey Spying

A few minutes later, Erica and Peter were out on the street. "So, there's a six foot tongueless man roaming the city. How easy will he be to find?"

Peter frowned, preoccupied. "I don't like it," he thought aloud as they walked, "It may be something more than the police can deal with; normally Spider-Man would be on to it, but you… you have enough to cope with trying to get back home. We don't _need_ an added complication."

"It's not as if I've been overwhelmed with things to do up 'til now…"

"Yes, but you've also been learning the ropes… you're still inexperienced. I don't think you realise just how fast and strong you actually are…"

"Give me a chance! I'm finding out fast."

"You'll need to - with Dr Octopus about. He knows Spider-Man's strengths - and weaknesses. Though I don't mean for you to fight him..." Erica knew he meant 'just in case'.

"Well," she said cheerfully, "We'll have to have a few tricks up _our_ sleeves as well, if we can't totally rely on Spidey-powers!"

At the apartment, Peter threw off his jacket and headed straight for his room, Erica right on his heels. "…Up our sleeves…" he mumbled. He rummaged around on his bookshelf, pulling down a couple of tomes. Then he unlocked his desk and started pulling out chemicals and equipment.

"What are you doing?" asked Erica. He seemed to have forgotten she was there. "Making up some more web-fluid?"

Peter ignored her; he was busy searching through his texts, muttering under his breath and scribbling in an old notebook. Erica tried asking him another question. "Have you got an idea for something?" Well, what do you get for asking a rhetorical question. It was obvious to Erica that she was going to get no response from Peter until he had worked out whatever it was on his mind. She left him to it. 

Wandering back into the living area, she noticed the time on the clock; quarter to five. It had been a lively afternoon, she had to give it that. Man, was she hungry again! It had to be the extra energy she was using. Erica took her shoes off and went into the kitchenette to look for food. Perhaps an early dinner… 

An hour later, and she went to check on Peter. He was still head down amongst his paraphernalia, oblivious to anything else around him. 

"Hey, I was searching through the back of your fridge for food, and guess what I found? The lost score for Haydn's Unfinished Symphony," she lied.

"Uh-huh." Peter said absent-mindedly.

Erica tried again. "I've been watching NY1 on TV. There's a giant jelly-fish floating up the Hudson River, and it's threatening to engulf the whole of Manhattan. It's already swallowed the Statue of Liberty."

"That's nice." 

"Mary-Jane just rang. She says she's been bitten by a radioactive stick insect while on assignment, and has gained it's proportions - the modelling agency didn't mind that, but they're not so happy about the resulting skin condition…"

"What?! What's happened to Mary-Jane?" Peter finally paid attention to what she was saying, and looked up in alarm.

"Duh, nothing! But I've cooked some dinner. C'mon and eat now. You can come back to this…" Erica had already set the small table.

"So, what are you working on?" she asked, as she was placing a plate down in front of Peter. 

He picked up his fork and took a couple of mouthfuls before replying. "A different kind of web-fluid; one that expands to a foam. I've done it before, but very crudely. This time, I want a foam that's capable of stopping Doc Ock in his tracks. The Defence forces have a foam they use as a barrier against rioters, but they have many troubles with it. I'm gonna make mine better."

Erica raked her fingers through her hair. "I don't get it. How would _foam_ stop Dr Octopus?" 

"This'll be no bubble bath! You can quote me if you want… It'll be a highly adhesive foam to begin with, but will harden quickly with continued exposure to air."

"Oooh, I get it now. Clever." Erica grinned at Peter. 

"Of course, it'll take time to develop and test… but at least that's one thing we do have: time."

"I wonder… Jolly Jonah's bound to make a big splash of this arvo's little do in his paper. Won't Doc Ock get the wind up him and try and stop Spider-Man again?"

Peter chewed his food in silence. 

"No, I don't think he will," he said eventually. "Knowing him, he'll concentrate on his base of operation, set traps there for Spider-Man if he goes after him. We won't have the element of pure surprise, but… I'm thinking… he may not know we're on to him already. If we take our time, any suspicions he may have will be allayed, and we will still be able to surprise him, catch him off guard."

"Ah, a mental game. I understand that," she said cheerfully, bolting down her meal. "We've more than a wee 'smattering of elemental strategy' ourselves."

"Huh? Anyway, he'd expect Spider-Man to go straight after him if he knew anything - Spidey's known for his impetuosity…"

"An all-American action-hero, eh?" Erica cleared the table. "I just thought of another diversion, and it involves the Un-tongued. Might as well make use of the publicity - Doc Ock will think the web-slinger's too busy going after those guys to worry about him… of course, the cult may decide Spidey's a threat to their plans and go after him themselves."

Peter groaned. "No. Forget them. I don't want you getting hurt…"

"Who said anything about getting hurt?"

"Look, anybody who gets even slightly close to Spider-Man ends up being harmed. I won't let it happen to you too."

"It's a little late for that, don'tcha think? Besides, I can take better care of myself than you can at the moment" 

She was calm and even tempered, but all the same to underscore her point, she stumped off to the bathroom and reappeared suited up as the webster. She saw Peter's eyes narrow in impotent anger, and hoped she hadn't pushed him too far - she didn't want him to do anything stupid, like dress up in a spare costume for instance, and go looking for trouble. To calm him down, she said mildly, "I'm off to visit Curt Connors - as we discussed earlier. What could be more harmless?" Then she swiftly ducked out the window before Peter could reply, knowing full well that Dr Connors was at times, anything _but_ harmless…

…………………………………….

It was dusk. The last shadows thrown by the sun had disappeared with it's setting, but there was still a glowing emanation filling the sky. Soon it too would be gone. It was one of the quieter nights for the city - people were busy recovering from the excesses of the weekend and preparing for the new working week in front of them. This was the time of evening when denizens of the day swapped watch with those of the night. Other strange creatures were also about. Anyone in the right spot who happened to be looking upwards would have seen a dark figure silhouetted against the sky, as it leapt and swung between tall buildings. They may have thought they knew who it was, but they would have been somewhat mistaken…

Spidey swung across town towards the piers. She fully intended paying a visit to Dr Connors, but first she wanted to have a bit of a search around for a tall guy in black missing a tongue and wielding a knife. 'Shouldn't be too hard in a city the size of New York, I mean, how many people answer to that description?' According to the reading she'd done in the past, all she had to do was swing round for a bit, especially near dock areas, and wait for her spidey-sense to kick in… Yeah, right. 

She leapt up to a ledge, vaulted across a couple of large air vents and launched herself feet first of the other side and down to land lightly on the roof of the next building. Firing a strand of web, she sprung over the street and reaching for an antenna with both hands, let the momentum of her spring increase before she let go and sailed across to another ledge. 

One advantage in this web-slinging business was that those years of experience sailing that were sure paying off now - the agility and balance she'd gained on deck avoiding obstacles, scrambling up lines and working in the top-gallants while the ship rolled and pitched beneath her; strength built up in her upper body from hanging on, shimmying down the lines fast when needed, always one hand for the ship, one for herself; hauling in sheets to raise and lower the sails, and even the challenge of moving about below decks when the weather was wild - all helped. 

Erica giggled to herself imagining the opposite - think of the advantages of having spider-powers on board ship; no worries about losing your grip, climbing to the tops a breeze, and the strength to operate a windlass single-handedly! She flung out a web line and caught the edge of a parapet at the end of the arc almost without thinking. It was becoming easier, this mode of travel. 

Unexpectedly, her spider-sense _did_ begin to tingle, but not as an urgent warning, more as an impression of wrongness. 'Well, what do you know?' Spidey started following the impression to it's source. She supposed that the spider-sense was instinctual, working on a subconscious level to find what was on her mind. Something like that. 

Quietly now, the wall-crawler crept down the side of an edifice that in the may have originally been a shipping company's headquarters before numerous reincarnations led to its present function as a local meeting place for a variety of community organisations. 

Peering into the lit windows on her way down, she saw they were mainly health groups; asthma support, antenatal classes, migrant health services, and the like. The fourth window she looked in though was different. The signs and posters on the walls of the room within, the whiteboard, the generic stacked chairs, all proclaimed the room was the base of a genuine organisation dealing with communicative disorders - helping those who cannot speak themselves - but the three figures sitting around a formica table did not seem like your everyday, run-of-the-mill mute who needed support. These guys may well have been mute, but the main feature that set them apart was their mode of dress - entirely close-fitting charcoal grey, and she didn't think they were that way because they were trying to be trendy. The small black knives they had laid in front of them was a give-away too. They were evidently using the cover of a doubtless authentic society. No hidden lair for these guys. 

'Well shucks,' thought Spidey, 'why didn't I think to look them up in the phone book?' She noticed they each had a PDA next to them as well - no old-fashioned pen-and-paper as a means of communication here. Given the circumstances, there was no way she could eavesdrop on their conversation even if the window had been open. Her only course of action was to wait until they finished their meeting, then follow one of them in the hopes of him leading to more information. 

But which one? She watched closely. One of them had their back to the window. He had short mouse-coloured hair, but she could tell nothing else about him, however the other two she could observe in more detail; one was a very tall figure, even sitting down. He was black haired and had a vaguely middle-eastern appearance. Perhaps he was the six-foot plus man Sergeant Hudson had mentioned. The other was older and shorter, but more powerfully built. His most distinguishing characteristic was his great beak of a nose; all his other facial features seemed to vanish behind it until he was all nose and nothing else. His fingers were also the most busy tapping away on a peripheral keyboard attached to his pilot. 'He must be the more senior of the group. He's the one to wait for…'

Spidey crawled around the building, checking out the exits. At that time of the evening, only the front entrance appeared to be open; the others locked. Flipping to the ledge of the low building opposite, Spidey hid herself in the shadows and prepared to wait again. 'It's just as well I'm not in this for the action, it only comes in short bursts. Not that I'm complaining mind. I kinda prefer it this way…' She wondered what they were chatting about in there. Probably their captured comrade, maybe their plan of action now. She decided she had to somehow learn soon from Hudson what state the tall guy's victim was left in - she had a feeling he wasn't telling them the details for a reason… 

Several people left and entered the community building while Spidey watched. She didn't think the mute men would leave the premises without covering up their unusual garb, but old Beak Nose should be easy enough to recognise even in mufti. 

It was completely dark outside by the time Beak Nose made his appearance. The dark jacket he had on over his grey outfit was enough to disguise it so he didn't look so odd walking down the street. Spidey followed discreetly. She had a sudden thought; what if he took the subway? She could always attach a tracer to him, but she was a bit wary of using them unless absolutely necessary. However she was in luck, as Beak Nose chose to walk to his destination that night. 

They had arrived at a house in Greenwich village that had been converted into a couple of apartments. Spidey watched Beak Nose enter, and a short time later, a light come on at a window. With a couple of leaps, she was able to crawl down the side of the wall until she could peep in. There old Beaky was in his lounge, turning on his TV and shrugging out of his jacket. As she continued to watch, he sat in an armchair and started flipping channels with his remote. He looked like he was settling in for the evening. Spidey was satisfied that at least she knew his address and could find him again if she needed to. Maybe one of the other guys would have been a better bet to follow. Too late now. She still had to head over to the university and see Dr Connors, then head back to the apartment; at least the university wasn't far from here. 

As she swung across Greenwich village, she kept her eyes and senses peeled, just in case. She didn't expect anything, and this time she was right; the other two guys must have gone different ways. The web-slinger made her way to the buildings rising at the far side of Washington Square where Peter had told her the whereabouts of Dr Connor's office and lab in the Stanford Building. 

Clinging to the wall, Spidey checked to see whether Connors was in and alone; there was a light from within so someone was there. She was in luck - he was in, seated at a desk, and appeared to be busy marking student papers. This meeting would be a test for her; she'd have to be careful he didn't suspect she wasn't really Spider-Man, and it would be a much harder job given that Dr Connors knew the original, and that she wasn't going to be constantly on the move. He was also a lot smarter than, and not so single-minded as Jameson… Taking a deep breath, she tapped lightly on the window to gain his attention. He looked up, startled, but when he saw who it was he jumped up with alacrity and came over to open the window for her to step in. 

"Spider-Man! I haven't seen you for such a long time! You must need my help again - you're not in the habit of paying social calls!"

Spidey grinned under her mask - that was about the size of it, she thought. Aloud, concentrating on sounding as much as possible like Peter, she said, "Good to see you too, Curt. You can relax, it's only some information I'm wanting this time!"

She settled up to sit on the wall with the help of a webbing bosun's chair, also figuring that the posture would disguise her anatomy somewhat. Curt Connors didn't seem to notice anything amiss. 

"How can I help?"

"I'll come straight to the matter: has there been any news around ESU recently regarding Dr. Otto Octavius?"

"Dr Octopus? Funny you should mention him… there's a rumour floating about that he is planning to endow a chair in a neuro-science. He's been approaching several different departments, re-establishing his credentials as a research scientist."

"True, he _used_ to be. But what of his recent criminal past, doesn't that make it difficult for him? Besides the fact he's as mad as."

"I can't comment on his sanity, but you know college research departments - always strapped for funding. Someone will probably leap at the chance and ignore any dubious background." Connors paused, "I gather he is claiming he's a reformed character and on the verge of an important new discovery."

"_Is_ he now… I wonder what he's up to?" 

"Could it be true?"

"Doc Ock? Not a chance! Though he can be very plausible… Hmmm. When do you think they'll announce the endowment?"

"Not any time soon. It's still only a rumour, and these things take a while to set up."

"Well, thanks for your help. Can you keep your ears open? I'll drop by again soon, see if there's been any more snippets floating around."

"Sure, I'll do that for you Spider-Man - compared with some of the things you've asked me in the past, this is easy!"

"Told you so," agreed Spidey. She quickly left her sling and dived for the window, twisting so that she connected and clung just outside it. She poked her head back in. "Thanks Curt. I'll let you go back to grading students' work, you lucky thing!"

Curt Connors smiled and waved his hand in farewell as Spidey disappeared into the night.

"Hi boys, I hope you don't mind a gatecrasher at your party!" Spidey lowered herself upside-down by her web until she was between two of the group of men who were in the process of robbing an appliance store. 

"It's Spider-Man!" one of them exclaimed. 

"Give that man a Krispie!" Spidey shot out sideways with her two fists as they both charged for her at once, knocking them flying backwards to the ground. She performed a forward flip to land on her feet on the asphalt. The other two men, one of them a teen so young he could barely be called a man, had been on their way to a parked van, and were still standing there in surprised shock, arms loaded with DVD players and game consoles. 

The elder man came to his senses before the other. "Here, catch!" he said, throwing the stolen merchandise at Spidey, hoping to distract her while he made a run for it. Spidey deftly caught the appliances one at a time, set them down carefully by a wall - no sense in letting them get damaged; that would be as bad as them being stolen to the store owner - before running after the crook and leaping in front of him. 

"Now, why would you want a Playstation, when you've got me in living colour?" Spidey asked rhetorically as she faced him. He took a swipe at her; she evaded it seemingly without effort. He tried again, with the same result. 

"Tut tut, not a very good game player, are you?" She gave him a little tap to the jaw, which sent him sprawling. He rolled over onto all fours, and shook his head, trying to clear it. Spidey made the most of the opportunity presented; she grabbed the guy around the waist, shot some webbing up at a cornice and swung back to the others she had left behind. 

Meantime the boy who was left holding appliances had seen what was happening to his mates, and decided he wanted no part of it. He was frantically placing his loot next to the rest stacked against the wall when Spidey passed with her load and let it go, just in time for it to barrel over the first two, who were in the process of regaining their feet. 

Releasing her web-line and twisting in mid-air, Spidey landed and immediately sent a spray of webbing over the three prone forms, trapping them under a net. The remaining burglar put his hands up in the air in fear and surrender. 

"Don't hit me! I give up!"

"Good on ya. A techno freak like you wouldn't happen to have a cell-phone, would ya?" Spidey held out her hand. The nervous boy fumbled inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a phone which he tossed to her. She caught it and used it to call the police, then coming closer to the teen, replaced the phone in his pocket. He was trembling with fright. 

"What.. what are you gonna do to me?"

Spidey paused for a second. She guessed that it was the boy's first caper, and that he probably had been roped into it by the other crooks. Having spent a lot of time with teens, she knew how easy that could be. She felt sorry for him, and was very tempted to let him go - give him a second chance - the fright he had got might be enough that he wouldn't try a similar stunt like this again. But then… what would his mates do to him if they knew he'd been let off by Spider-Man? What would the police do? It certainly wouldn't help the web-spinner's rep any. And… who was she to set herself up as judge and jury? She didn't know what Peter would do in the same situation, but she wasn't Peter - she had to do as she saw fit. She had to have faith in the justice system, that _they'd_ give him that second chance, or she'd be no better than the 'masked menace' Jameson always claimed Spider-Man to be. 

"Wrap up a nice present for the police. Don't worry, I won't hurt ya." Spidey was as good as her word, and soon the boy was on the pavement, webbed by his hands and feet, helpless. 

"Not cut out for this line of work are you?" the wall-crawler said almost gently, "Try something different. Ya never know, a lot of fresh air and clean living could get ya a job like mine!" She tilted her head; in the distance was the sound of sirens. "Gotta cut a track. See ya!" And she leapt up at the bricks of the building, swiftly bounced from one cornice to another, and soon vanished over the roof tops.

…………………………………………………… 

Weary now, Peter turned out his angle-poise light. He had spent the time since Spidey's departure working on developing his new formula and was beginning to think he was getting somewhere at last. At least on paper. Tomorrow he would try re-formulating the web-fluid, once he had bought a couple more chemicals he needed. He stretched, and glanced at Erica's watch on his wrist - where was she? Yawning, he closed up his books and stacked them up neatly together. He strolled into the lounge, and turned the TV on to catch the news. It was one of those habits he followed when he could; many times the bulletins showed him scenarios he'd had to act on. 

Peter flopped on the couch, but even with the TV on and the sound up, he couldn't concentrate on the box. He was worried. He wondered if he should have gone to see Dr Connors himself - as Peter, as they both knew each other anyway, and he could have thought up some plausible excuse for Peter Parker to be interested in Ock… And what was taking Erica so long seeing him? Was she in some sort of trouble? He tried not to think about it, after all, as Erica had pointed out, he was hardly in the position to do anything about it now. He just hoped she wasn't becoming over-confident; under-estimating his foes' abilities had led him into serious difficulties in the past and he had been lucky escaping without serious injury or even death in many situations. 

Then there was that cult, whatever it was. He didn't like it at all; how did Jonah's attacker get so strong? And what was the significance of the tongue cut out? Erica was right in one respect, he did need a computer so he could access the net. His biggest worry though, was still Doc Ock. 

J.Jonah Jameson's head appeared on the screen, gaining Pete's attention. He was giving his usual skewed version of events, claiming he had fought off his attacker that afternoon, and Spider-Man had shown up only at the moment to steal his glory. "Bah!" Peter flung a cushion at the TV and got up to retrieve it, turning the TV off as he did so. There was nothing worth watching, especially if Jameson was the only local newsworthy item that evening. Peter looked around the room, thinking he should get himself off to bed, it was late and he was tired, but he felt too keyed up, and knew he would have trouble sleeping. Studying had always been a good cure for insomnia - that or web-slinging, which wasn't an option anymore. Perhaps if he read something unconnected with the day's events. 

On the shelf by the table was the _Encyclopedia of New York City_, where Erica had left it. Peter took it down, opened it up at random and started reading. He began by reading each entry in turn, but soon got interested in a subject and ended up darting all over the book, totally engrossed. He didn't hear Erica's return; she took one look at him and quietly left the room. 

The sound of the kettle's soft hiss as it simmered on it's way to boiling slowly permeated Peter's consciousness, like a form of aural osmosis. He twisted in his chair, "I didn't hear you come in," he stated to Erica, who was behind the counter of the kitchenette. She was staring out the window at the darkness, not really seeing anything, but turned her head at Peter's voice.

"Hmm?" she said and then, scratching her head, she woke up from her day-dream and smiled at him. "I was just thinking how this city starts to get to you after a while. I've been here almost a week, and it feels like a life-time already. I guess with all these… changes, and keeping busy, I haven't had much time in the last couple of days to think about home. I guess I'd better be careful, or my life here in New York will become too attractive for me to want to go home again…" The kettle boiled. Erica lifted it up. "Cwawfee?" she asked Peter, putting on a stereotypical New York accent. She started pouring hot water into her cup while waiting for Peter's reply.

He said, "Yeah sure thing, hun." He closed his book and watched her. "What if… if we're unable to get you back home? What then?" 

Erica finished putting the coffee on, taking the time to think while she did so. She stared out the window again, seeing herself reflected in the glass, as she answered."I suppose I'd have to accept it - there'd be nothing else I could do. I think it would be a mistake to try to go back to New Zealand - it wouldn't be _my_ New Zealand, and I think that would make the whole thing a lot worse. As it is, the way I am, I couldn't go anyway… And… I'm almost afraid that if I did manage to get back home, that I would end up homesick for New York, missing here more… What about you, eh?" she finished with a change of tone, turning back.

"You've asked me before, and I'm still not sure in my mind. I waver between the two possibilities so often every day, I'm confusing myself. All we can do is follow our course of action and see where it leads us - one way or the other…"

"It does seem odd," mused Erica as she came over to the table with their hot drinks, "You don't have a super-baddy turn up once and then disappear like that. It was as if he'd been sent out on the one, and one only, assignment."

"I know, that's what's worrying me. What if Ock's disposed of him, even worse, disposed of his weapon in the belief it didn't work? Then…" Peter didn't finish his sentence. There was no need to; they both knew what would follow. 

He patted the book in front of him to change the subject. "This is a fascinating read," he said, "Did you get far through it?"

"You got to be joking!" 

Peter grinned. "Heh, your Spidey-speed-reading not working? Too bad. I read a bit about tunnels. Seems there's a precedent for mysterious tunnels under Manhattan. According to this, a man named Jacob Walton was the owner of the whole Gracie Mansion area in 1770, and he was loyal to the King of England. When the Revolution began, he built a tunnel leading to the East River so he could escape to a waiting ship if necessary. The tunnel wasn't discovered until 1913."

"You mean Doc Ock's tunnel could be a historical one?"

"It'd be difficult to build a new one nowadays and keep it completely hidden. Look at the work on the new one Uptown. If only we could find some account or mention of Ock's one somewhere, or even a plan - it may help."

"Can't be too hard to figure out where it leads to surely? Looking at the clinic the other day, I'd say it goes under the East River to Roosevelt Island."

"But why?"

"Didn't you tell me Roosevelt Island used to be a prison island? Maybe it was an escape route…"

"Hey! Why didn't I think of that!"

"Cos you were thinking of something else?" Erica hid her smile behind her cup. 

Peter gave a little chuckle; he knew Erica was laughing at him, but it didn't matter. Now to find out where she had been… "Only a six-armed something… So, spit the scuttlebutt at ESU!"

"Scuttle-Butt. Is that what you call him? That suits Doc Ock to a T! Hehe." 

This time, Peter was unsure whether Erica was still laughing at him. He decided to ignore the jibe. "Did Curt Connors have anything to say?"

"Plenty." Peter listened closely while Erica unfolded her findings.

"…So I came back."

"What's he playing at?" he mused, "Does he want to take advantage of a research project? Or…"

"I said I'd go back soon and see if he'd heard anything more." Erica continued. "He's a nice guy, isn't he?"

"You stayed to chat did you?" Peter raised an eyebrow; he didn't think that was what took her so long to get back. 

Erica looked flushed all of a sudden. Pete knew now what that meant - she wasn't a very good liar when her face betrayed her that way. He'd also noticed her cheeks became red with anger, fright or excitement, and she wasn't any of those at the moment…

"Well… no. I admit it. I stopped on the way back to break up a robbery in progress. It took me longer than I expected - there was this kid…" Her face had cleared of its heightened colour now, so Peter knew she was telling the truth. Just as well she wore a mask as Spidey; she'd give too much away otherwise. How would she be able to keep a secret identity secret if she blushed every time she had to come up with an explanation why she wasn't someplace? As long as others thought it was because she was embarrassed, embarrassment being the normally perceived cause of blushes. Peter became aware that Erica was still talking - she had just asked him a question, and was repeating it.

"How'd you get on with your new goo?" she said, pointedly looking at the Encyclopedia.

"Getting there. I need some extra chemicals, which I'll get tomorrow morning, and by evening hopefully we'll be able to test it out."

"Great!" Erica went back to the kitchen with the cups, and looked at her reflection in the window again as she rinsed them and placed them upside-down on the counter. "That's amazing," she said, "My black eye and fat lip are gone already, and this bruise on my jaw looks like it will have faded by morning."

"And you're probably not feeling all that tired either, are you? _I'm_ tired; now I remember again what it feels like to be an average joe." Just mentioning being tired made Pete give a huge involuntary yawn.

"You'd never be average. But you're wrong about being tired - I am. So piss off so _I_ can get some sleep!"

Peter ambled off into the next room and shut the door after him. He wasn't feeling quite as weary as he had earlier, but after glancing at his desk with his work neatly arranged and half considering reading through his notes once more, he knew he would be better off following Erica's example and getting some sleep himself. He walked into the bathroom and prepared to brush his teeth - and saw that the Spider-Man costume had been washed and hung up to dry. Peter stared at it and touched it gingerly, almost as if it would reach back to him. At the present time, it looked as if the chances of him donning it again were rather slim. He had gone through so much as Spidey, wearing that costume - he thought back to the anguish it had caused, all the times he couldn't admit to it - letting friends down, letting them think he was something other than he was, because he couldn't let them discover his alter-ego. There had been times he absolutely hated that costume, hated the mess it had made of his life. But now, when he couldn't use it, he wanted to put it on, to feel the exhilaration of travelling over the rooftops on his webs, to have one last swing around. He sighed, and turned his attention back to his toothbrush.

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	19. Smoke and Fire

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A/N: Hey there, Spidey fans! Things start to hot up for our new hero - and how!

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Chapter 19: Smoke and Fire

The increased traffic noise told Peter it was morning and time to get up. But as early as he was, Erica had been up earlier. 

"At last," she said, as Peter finally came out of his room, "Now I can have a shower! Coffee's brewed for you!" 

She pushed past him and disappeared into the bathroom, a blur in her hurry to get there. Peter shook his head in bemusement and poured himself his coffee. He planned the start of his day's work while he took quick slurps from his almost-too-hot-to-drink cup. Moving to the table, he discovered that Erica had also already been out - the morning's edition of the Bugle was spread out over it. He scanned the photos on the front page, wondering if Erica had got just as big a kick out of them this morning, seeing them in a newspaper, as she had when he'd developed them yesterday. He hoped so. 

The accompanying story revealed nothing new - this, and the news item he'd seen on the TV last night told him that Jameson had recovered rapidly from his shock, and was back to his normal jolly self. He perused the rest of the paper while he waited for Erica to finish her shower. The article about the café Europa gunman was further inside, with a small photo of Spidey in action. Another report of a city official in a coma as a result of the mysterious virus. The Department of Public Health were asking people to see their doctor at the slightest symptoms of flu. This was getting more and more serious, thought Peter. There was also a hint of a financial scandal attached to the new tunnel being built; some dubious accounting practises uncovered. What else was new?

A freshly scrubbed Erica, damp hair sticking up all over the place, entered the room singing. Peter winced - she certainly was cheerful in the mornings. 

"…woogie bugle boy from Company B!" she warbled. She stopped, grinned at Peter. "I'm going off to work this morning," she said.

"I'd never have guessed."

She grabbed her backpack from the couch and slung it over her shoulders as she prepared to head for the door to leave. "I'll see you later. Do you have a spare key just in case you're out when I get back?"

"No," admitted Peter. He had given his spare to Mary-Jane. "Shall I leave a window open for you?"

"Yeah, O.K. Cheerio!" Erica left with a banged door behind her. Peter waited, listening, but didn't hear the elevator, so guessed that Erica had jumped down the stairs again. She was taking a few risks using her spider-powers so openly like that, but it probably didn't matter that much - who would believe it if they saw a woman jumping like that? And even if they did, they were extremely unlikely to connect it to Spider-Man… 

It was raining. 

This time, Peter had a use for that umbrella he'd used as an excuse yesterday. He smiled at the thought as he walked into the entrance-way of the chemical supply place, shaking the rain from his umbrella before folding it. He was careful not to visit the store too often - most of his supplies he got through mail order, and from different companies. The assistants in this place knew what they were selling, and made sure that their customers knew what they were buying. Once a customer had proved their legitimacy and competency, the purchase of chemicals could proceed without any further checks. 

Peter liked wandering through and perusing the shelves. Sometimes as he wandered, spying a particular compound would set ideas running through his head. Today though, he was here for specific chemicals. He found them quickly, and took them to the counter. He joked with Dean, the manager who always gave the impression of an old-fashioned grocer, hiding his scientific savviness behind his half-specs. 

"Still no dilithium crystals in stock, I see." This was a long running banter between them, after Pete had once overheard a customer seriously asking for them. 

"No, and you're out of luck with the corbomite as well - they're gone as soon as we get them in." 

"Just as well this is all I need then," said Peter, as Dean wrote up the purchases in the computer, printed out a record of them and got Pete to sign the store copy, as a standard security measure. 

"Any strange requests lately?" Peter asked. He knew Dean enjoyed recounting the foibles of the public.

Dean laughed, "Some doozies. I had a character the other day who said he needed some sodium chloride and got riled when I told him he'd be better off buying it somewhere else, that it was cheaper at he grocer's down the street. He thought I was having him on, until I told him exactly what NaCl was."

"He honestly didn't know?"

"Honest!" Dean shook his head, "But the strangest, and I mean strange, was a man who did his entire transaction using his PDA. He bought some interesting stuff too - a real strange mix of chemicals. He checked out all right though, so he was legit."

"What did he look like?" Peter perked up his ears; could the guy be someone who couldn't speak? Midge?

"Oh, large nose, older, about my age. Now there's a confession for you…" Dean chuckled and wrapped the chemicals up.

Peter handed over his money deep in thought. It can't have been Midge; Dean would have mentioned his size. Likewise the other attacker Hudson had talked about - wrong age. Oh, well, just because some crank has a thing about PDA's - this customer was probably unconnected to all that other business anyway…

Immediately he got back to his apartment, Peter started working on his new formula again. Eventually, he leant back in his chair and stretched. His back had a crick in it from spending a few hours hunched over at his desk, engrossed. 

"Ooooh, ow!" He needed a new hobby. He couldn't go for a swing to work the kinks out.. or could he? Peter grinned to himself, stood up and went and opened the window. It was still raining out. Good. 

A while later, and Pete was swinging through the air, having the time of his life. He hadn't done this for so long, that it had taken him a short time to adjust, but it was remarkable how quickly it all came back to you… "Wheeee!" Peter leaned back and let the rain fall on his face. 

A couple walking past smiled at him - a grown man on a child's swing. The playground was deserted, the rain keeping the children, or more correctly, their guardians, away. Peter swung higher, remembering how Uncle Ben would take him to the park to encourage him to play ball, and how it always ended with Ben pushing him on the swings after the flop that was ball practise. Peter reached the apex of a forward swing and decided to try something he'd seen other kids do when he was small. He was sure he could do it now. He back-flipped off the seat, and landed on the ground in a half crouch. 'Well, what do you know?' he thought with a huge grin, 'maybe I'm not that hopeless after all.' 

Just then, the edge of the returning swing clipped him on the back of the head. He lost his balance and ended up sprawled face-down on the wet matting. Peter cursed - his luck hadn't changed _that_ much. He picked himself up, ruefully rubbing the back of his head; at any rate, his back felt better.

Thoroughly wet now, he returned to the apartment, grabbing a hero on the way for his lunch. Erica wasn't back yet. Peter hung his jacket in the bathroom to dry, changed his clothes, made himself a cup of coffee. This he took back to his desk, and went over his notes once more as he drank. It _should_ work… 

He was absorbed in his study again that at first he didn't hear the knock, but as it became more insistent, he jumped up and answered the front door. Erica was just turning away, about to climb the stairs to the roof when he opened the door. "Oh, I thought you were out…"

"I'm in. I was…"

"I know, engrossed in your work. It's a wonder you heard my knock at all." Erica broke into a smile. In the dimmed lighting of the landing, only her eyes and teeth showed in her tanned face. Her hair was wet, but her clothes were remarkably dry for someone who didn't have an umbrella or coat. Peter didn't have to guess why. And as soon as the door was closed behind them, Erica all but admitted it. 

"Ick, it's like putting your clothes on over wet togs. How'd you go with the foam?"

"Done," replied Peter, watching Erica bustle about the lounge, taking various items out of her backpack. She seemed particularly zestful today. She stopped still and tilted her head to look at him where he was standing, leaning by the door.

"We can't test it in daylight, can we?" she asked rhetorically. "What are we going to do this afternoon?"

"Laundry," he said flatly. He almost laughed at the expression of disgust at this mundane domestic duty. "Hey," he continued, "We get to see Aunt May - by using her washer and dryer we kill two birds with one stone."

"That's all right then."

Peter smiled, decided to needle her a bit. "And you can carry the dirty washing…"

"What? You mean you carry it all the way across town? No way!"

"What, you don't want to see Aunt May again? You'll hurt her feelings."

"Oh, O.K. then. But we get any comments on the way there, I'm going to stuff you in the empty sack for the return journey."

Pete laughed. Cultural differences again - Manhattanites were used to seeing each other carrying laundry to the local laundromats, or further afield. Not every apartment building had a laundry room in the basement. Speaking of airing dirty laundry… 

"How was Jolly Jonah this morning?" he called out. Erica had taken herself off to the bathroom to collect the hamper. 

"Fine," she called back, "He's still a little shaken, I think. He was growling more than usual this morning. He said to me 'You're as bad as Parker - turning up only when it doesn't interrupt your busy little social schedule'." Erica managed a reasonable facsimile of Jameson's gruff tone and manner. "I told him 'You ought to know, Sweetie'." 

She came out into the lounge again with her arms full of clothing and dumped the pile onto the lino. Peter eyed the heap; it was larger than his normal load. 

"Oh crap," he sighed, "Aunt May thinks you're still at a hotel. What'll she think when we turn up with this huge load of laundry?"

"That you're a dirty boy?" Erica caught the book that was aimed at her head easily with her hand. She tossed it gently back onto the table. "Nice one! C'mon, what are we waiting for?" 

…………………………….

You could never tell what surprises fate had in store for you, thought Peter as they walked down the path away from the front steps of Aunt May's house. 

Aunt May had been going through some old papers since they last saw her, trying to find some information about Ben's family. She had found some notes that his mother had made to include in the now long lost family bible, and discovered that Ben's grandfather had had a brother who had gone missing; at least, his whereabouts had never been explained. Even though Peter knew that Jeremiah Parker was no actual common ancestor of his and Erica's, the possibility was there that he _did_ have a cousin living. Still, in the unlikely event that it was the case, Peter decided he didn't want to pursue it. Too dangerous, besides Aunt May would be happy to accept Grand-uncle Jeremiah as Erica's and leave it at that. He would do the same. 

It had stopped raining although the skies were still overcast, and the flat light made everything dull and drab. The two made their way back to the apartment, timing it so that they avoided the worse of the commuter rush on the subway. Peter glanced at Erica as she sat in the train, the large bundle of laundry balanced on the floor between her legs. She was staring off in the distance, wrapped in her own thoughts, but they didn't look as if they were particularly happy ones. Pete felt her mood had finally matched the weather. 

"Anything the matter?" he asked, as they climbed up the steps out into the street. The streets were filling up rapidly, and Erica with the laundry was kept busy dodging people rushing to catch their train. 

Erica sighed, "Poor Aunt May. Though I suppose she's happy enough. Sounds like we've given her a new interest to keep her occupied for a while. Did you know that genealogy is the world's fastest growing hobby? I hope old Jeremiah proves a dead-end though - even if it's frustrating for her, it's better for us." She sighed again, at the same time gripping Peter's sleeve and pulling him out of the path of a certain collision with a pedestrian. Peter regarded her preoccupied profile in surprise; she had done that without thinking - how had she known? Had her spider sense somehow extended itself to include him? He shrugged it off. 

Rounding the corner, Erica gripped his sleeve once again, but this time it was to stop him. "Hold on. There's something…"

She took off, dropping the large bag and leaving him to pick it up before anyone went barrelling into it. When he looked up again, he could see no sign of her. He peered up and around at the high buildings, not having to squint at all due to the dull light, and he caught a flash of brilliant red and blue, just before he heard a loud strident alarm and saw the colorful figure disappear from view through a window. Still staring at the place, ignoring the people who bumped into him, he saw a burst of flame shoot out, followed a second later by the booming sound of an explosion above the traffic noise. 

Sudden panic struck the street; screams of terror, traffic stopping where it stood, drivers leaving their vehicles to run off, people running away from the scene. Even the pigeons flapped away in panic. 

Peter himself swallowed a couple of times before moving towards the building. He had to push against the tide of people coming the other way, as well as trying to hang on to the bundle under one arm, and with his other hand reach for his camera in his jacket pocket. He wished he had a cell phone to ring for the FDNY, but supposed somebody else would do this. He ran between the stalled cars on the street to the side opposite the damaged building, and, leaning against a store window with his laundry at his feet, started clicking away at the spectacle of flames and smoke billowing out into the sky. Faint sirens sounded; good, the fire dept and the police would soon have things to right. In the meantime, where was Spidey? 

Another window imploded with the heat, sending a further gush of flame. What had started the fire? Peter knew what most people were frightened of; that it was a new terrorist attack of some sort. The sirens were closer now. The first fire appliance rounded the corner in the fortunately unblocked emergency vehicle lane. There were only a few bystanders like himself still about. One had a video camera and was taking footage - no doubt planning to sell it to a television network to his advantage.

The fire crew were busy setting up their hoses and uncovering fire hydrants as a couple of squad cars roared into the street to add to the chaos. Jumping out and taking the situation in at a glance, one of the officers began directing the onlookers away from the scene. He came across to where Peter was positioned.

"I mightta known you'd be here!" he said, as he came closer. It was Sergeant Hudson.

"You get around yourself," remarked Peter, smiling, but keeping one eye on the building. Hudson followed his gaze.

"Quite a blast; you oughtta get a few good pics for that rag of yours, but that's all - I'll have to ask you to move on now."

Peter held up a hand for silence, still intent on the blown out windows. The flames had died down, but the smoke was as thick as it had been before. The fire-fighters had got their equipment ready and were starting to pump water. Other sections of the emergency crew had already entered the building at the ground level, to search the inside and evacuate any stranded people. In that second, as Peter and Hudson watched, a bright figure burst out of the dark smoky gap, a limp form tucked under one arm. The flash of red and blue toppled down the side of the building for a few stories before a slender strand of web-line adhered to the underside of a window ledge and slowed the descent of the two figures. Peter found himself holding his breath even as he captured the whole exit on film. 

As soon as they reached the ground, Peter, with Sergeant Hudson close behind, ran across the street to reach them. They converged on to the spot with a couple of the fire crew. Peter rushed to help Spidey; she was crouching down on the pavement, coughing violently. Amazingly, she didn't look singed at all, although her costume was soot-stained in a few places. 

He put his arm across her back, looked up at the concerned faces surrounding them. A fire-fighter was working on the rescued person beside them. One of the crew held out an oxygen mask to Peter. "Here, you put this on him," he indicated Spidey, "It'll help alleviate the smoke inhalation." 

Spidey turned her head toward Peter, he could guess she was panicking a bit, but she was coughing too hard to be able to speak.

"It's all right," he soothed, and moved around to face her, so that his body was obscuring the view between Spidey and the ER personnel. He deftly lifted Spidey's mask so that it uncovered the lower half of her face, and fitted the oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. She took in deep breaths of the oxygen, coughing in short spasms, until gradually the coughing subsided altogether. Quickly, using her spider speed so that her movements were blurred, she pulled down her own mask while removing the oxygen mask. 

"Thanks," she said, handing the oxygen back to the fire-fighter. She stood up, with Peter hovering by her side, and watched the rescued victim of the fire getting loaded onto a stretcher. "Will he…?" she started to ask.

"He'll be fine in a few days. What about you?" The ER worker was obviously amazed at how quickly Spidey had recovered from smoke inhalation. 

"Ah, you know me - a fresh air freak. A little smoke's nothing to get worried about!" she gasped, sounding a little hoarse from the coughing. She looked at Peter. "You here again, Parker?" The onlookers could hear a note of amusement in Spider-Man's voice. Peter smiled and waved a self-deprecating hand at her. Spidey chuckled, and was readying to leave when Sergeant Hudson stepped up and interrupted. 

"Spider-Man. If I may have a word?"

"Have as many as you like! Which ones do you want? I've got sesquicentenary, holus bolus, and metathesis going begging…"

Hudson snorted. Peter grinned; he knew Spidey's flippancy was partly hiding her nervousness, partly a sign that she had recovered from her injury. He was also pleased to see how she gave the Spider-Man persona some _joie de vivre_, something that had been missing from Spider-Man for a while…

"A coupla things: what can you tell me about this fire? And your… intervention on behalf of Jonah Jameson yesterday. Do you know anything about his assailant?"

Spidey became serious. "I arrived here just after the fire started - that guy was the only person on that floor. It looks to me as if it was natural causes, but I'll let the experts decide that." Spidey's opaque eyes scanned the hoses snaking along the sidewalk and street, and the fire crews still at work around them, as if to acknowledge the job the hard-working men and women did. Peter saw that the smoke had lessened and guessed that the fire was under control. 

Spidey continued, "Your second question… that's tougher. First time I'd come across that character. I can tell you he is very strong, but you undoubtedly know that already if you have him in custody. Likewise the cut out tongue. How about the small black knife? It's not a sgian dubh, I know that much. You've come across him before though…" she stated, watching the Sergeant. Peter gave Spidey silent encouragement; she was doing well not giving away the fact she had met Hudson before. Peter was suddenly glad she had a mask on - she could very well be blushing under it right now. 

Hudson nodded in agreement. "You're correct on that. Not him, but another very like. We had a witness to a successful attack, the victim wasn't so lucky. A single stab wound to the heart, and… her tongue cut out and placed on her chest."

"A ritualised killing… I'll have to be on the lookout for them then. Who was the victim?" Spidey asked. Peter made a slight movement as he listened. Hudson turned and noticed he was there. 

"You. I don't want any of this getting past these six ears. I especially don't want that flat-headed boss of yours to know. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir!" Peter said. Hudson turned back to Spider-Man.

"Just to prove that the media can be discreet, the victim was an analyst working for CNN on the crisis in the Middle-East."

This is one for the books, thought Peter, when Spidey can get more information and respect from a cop than plain ol' Peter Parker! 

Spidey shook her head. "Well, I'll let you know if I find out any more, Captain…?"

"Sergeant Bill Hudson, Midtown South Precinct. Here's my card." Hudson smiled.

"Pleased to meet ya. Now excuse me, I gotta shake my shirt!" Spidey leapt up onto the portico above the building entrance, watched by the emergency crews below. "Keep up the good work!" she cried. Then firing a line up across the street, she was off swinging up and around the corner.

Peter stood with Hudson watching her disappear out of view. Hudson smiled at Peter. "So, you're a friend of his, are you? He must be a cool guy to know."

Smiling back at Hudson, Peter agreed. "He's cool all right. But I'm not exactly his friend; more like a stalker, his personal paparazzi… that's how he tells it anyway!"

Hudson laughed. "I'm bound to bump into you again soon, way things are goin'. Well, I gotta do some work now, so excuse me too. Oh, and say hi to your cute cousin for me." Peter watched the Sergeant walk over to his colleagues. Then he remembered the laundry. 

"Oh shit." He ran back across the street. He was in luck for once; the evacuation of bystanders from the area meant the bag was where he had left it. Sighing in relief, Peter hauled the bundle into his arms and headed back to the apartment.

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A/N: Well, I'm quite a way through the story now, and the way it's plotted out there's about a third or so more to come before I'm finished. How's it going, what do you think?? 

Cheers,

Apteryx 


	20. Ambushed

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A/N: More action! And the result is not good…

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Chapter 20: Ambushed.

Wedging her fingers into the minute gap between the window frame and the sill, Spidey lifted the window open with one hand while the other hand and feet stuck to the bricks outside. She stepped through onto the sill and gave a short jump to land on the floor of the kitchen, where she promptly fell to her knees and started coughing. The paroxysm was not as bad as it had been at the fire, but the strain of holding the cough in to keep silent while she approached the apartment was too much. 

Still coughing, she reached behind her back and pulled off the small webbed-up bundle containing her clothes; she had seen Spider-Man do that often enough in the comics, that when she didn't have her back-pack with her she had to have some method of carrying her clothes back with her. The coughing was subsiding. How long would it take to fully recover? She hoped she wouldn't still be coughing by evening, as she needed to observe unseen _and_ unheard.

A drink of water, that's what she needed. Leaving her web-wrapped clothes on the floor, she stood and got herself a glass which she filled with water from the tap. Erica lifted her mask away from her mouth and drank deeply. That felt sooo much better. She peeled the mask the rest of the way off her head and stood leaning against the kitchen bench for a couple of minutes in thought, running her fingers through her hair and recovering the energy she needed to go and get changed. 

She had acted without thought at all during the fire, trying to let her spider senses find any trace of anyone still in danger from the flames, but had discovered, to her horror, that the smoke dulled the special sense. She had had to crawl around at floor level and hope that she had covered the entire area when at last she had found the man overcome by the smoke. Dragging him out had been tough - by then, the smoke was getting to her too, and the heat from the flames was becoming more intense with each passing second. She had found the window more by instinct than anything; visibility had been down to nothing. 

Erica remembered now, reading about how smoke affected Spider-Man's spidey sense, but to experience it herself… It showed her just how much she had become accustomed to it, even relied on it, that she had really noticed it's sudden loss. How much worse was it for Peter then, losing all his spider powers at once? It hit Erica with an abrupt realisation, just how much worse. Cripes, what an amazing guy Peter was to cope with that and help her too.

She was also a bit worried about something she had overheard when she had doubled back to pick up her clothes. She had heard Bill Hudson and one of his colleagues chatting as they walked underneath the ledge she was perched on, as they went about the clean up.

"…finally got to meet Spidey, huh?"

"Sure did!" Hudson had replied, "This time he couldn't take off as per usual. Ya know, I always thought he was bigger..."

"All public figures appear larger than life until you meet'em, you should know that."

"Yeah, but… I dunno, he seemed more… androgynous as well…" Hudson and his mate had wandered out of Spidey's earshot. 

Erica knew she'd have to be careful in future around Hudson, even to the extent of avoiding him, maybe… he might work out _why_ Spider-Man was different, not having the brains of a chocolate fish. 

So involved was she with her thoughts, that she hadn't heard the clunking of the old lift or the quiet 'snick' as the flat door was unlocked and then opened. She also didn't hear the soft thump of the bag of clean washing hitting the floor, or the soft foot-falls coming across the lino. Therefore she jumped in startlement when Peter spoke. 

"Erica! Hey, are you O.K? I wish you didn't have to do this…" 

"Yeah," she croaked, "I'm fine. I'll be O.K. Hey, um, thanks for before…"

"No problem. I know what it's like. Even a super-hero can do with a little help now and then."

Erica grinned. "Too right!" 

She coughed again, her gloved hand in front of her mouth. She looked down at her clothes still on the floor and noticed the state of her costume as she did so. "Oh Bugger! And we've just done the washing. What'll I do? I'll need to wear this tonight." She brushed futilely at a patch of soot on her arm. 

"Wash it anyway, didn't you wear it damp this morning?"

"Duh."

"Look, I'm gonna take these photos in now, while they're still news. I'll pick up dinner on the way back, and later we can maybe test the foam formula." Peter hesitated, "If you're certain you're fine, that is…"

"I'll survive. Uh. I'm going to have another shower - I can still smell the smoke." 

She picked up her clothes and moved out of the kitchen before Peter could say anything else. She didn't want to stay for the lecture and hear him going on again about it being his fault she got injured.

………………………………………………………………….

It was early evening, and the shadows were starting to lengthen. Already some buildings were in darkness, blocked from the sun's light by other, taller structures. A rich golden-orange light, the dying rays of the sun which had finally emerged from the cloud, bathed the tops of the skyscrapers to the east. 

An unremarkable couple emerged from the subway station at West 59th Street and Columbus Circle and started walking towards the waterfront, to an area where it was recommended that people avoid after dark. Several derelict buildings were marked for demolition here, and the whole place was to be rebuilt, as a combination of housing, car-parking and amenities, on the same idea as had successfully been carried out further down the island at Battery Park. Anyone listening as they passed the couple would have heard that they were having a friendly argument about the respective merits of tea and coffee. The golden light disappeared and as dusk fell, the lights of Manhattan became more pronounced. 

Erica thought that it seemed as if the island of Manhattan was a creature with two different sides; bustling, hyperactive, self-absorbed by day, and it's alter-ego; brooding, darker, watchful by night. They reached the first derelict building. Reports were that a large number of the marginalised populace of New York had moved in temporarily in these old apartment blocks; the homeless, illegal aliens, drug addicts, runaway teenagers, and those who preyed on them. The police tended to leave then alone unless an incident came to their notice, and that wasn't often; the shifting population covered it's tracks very well. Erica knew they really were asking for trouble by walking about here, looking like an easy target for someone. 

She felt the hair rise up on the back of her neck, as they walked on into the gathering darkness. No buildings showed lights here, and every other street light was out of action. She felt apprehensive, and a wee bit scared, even given the fact of her undoubted capabilities. She moved closer to Peter's side, glancing at him. He seemed unconcerned, without fear. Was it because of his faith in her, or only that his past had inured him to such neighbourhoods?

"…tastes like dishwater, and with milk added, _looks_ like it too." Peter was saying, continuing their good-natured bantering.

Erica's voice trembled a bit as she replied lamely. "Coffee's like dishwater with burnt bits added."

Peter stopped and looked at her, as if he could tell her heart was no longer in it. "Not much further," he said, "there's an old store…" he broke off as Erica clutched at his arm with urgency. 

Her spider-sense had flared up in warning; it must have been why she was feeling uneasy before, but it was now too late for her to change into her spidey-suit, and she didn't want to leave Peter by himself even for a moment. Out of the dark shadows, darker forms were moving. Erica could count four, and she knew that more were coming. Her only hope was that the light was so dim, that she'd be unrecognisable, and that the approaching figures would not know what hit them until too late. Even the small warning she had was enough to prepare themselves.

When a voice came out of the darkness, it wasn't as big a shock as it may have been. "Well, well, two little lambs to the slaughter. Hand over your wallets and any valuables, and we won't hurt you…. much."

Erica didn't respond, but she could feel Peter tense up beside her. She placed her hand on his sleeve, gently, and felt some of the tension ease. They waited silently, Erica wanting the figures to come nearer, within reach. She heard a 'schlick' as a knife was opened and watched as the dark shadows separated and advanced. 

The voice that spoke before did so again, softer and more menacing. "It looks like our little friends don't want to play our game. Maybe we should encourage them…" 

The features of the speaker could be seen now, a sallow, pinched face set in a body that was as thin as the back of a chair. He looked like he had missed more than a few meals; his body was the wrong size for his coat. Erica could not afford to feel sorry for him or his mates at this point in time; the knives they were holding looked very sharp…

"Now!" he cried, and the rush was on. 

Erica hoped Peter would be able to defend himself; if he could do that, she'd be able to do the rest. Erica gripped the wrist of knife-wielding leader as he charged toward her - obviously taking her for the easiest victim - and used his forward momentum against him, as she bent and flipped him over her back. He landed in a crumpled heap against a set of stone steps. Then she half turned and rammed her elbow into the stomach of the one who was attacking her from her right. She kept low and contorted her body to avoid his knife. He doubled up with a 'whoof' and sat, surprised and winded on the footpath. Erica was being careful not to move too fast or hit too hard; she wanted these fellas to think she was some sort of martial arts expert. 

On her left, she noticed Peter was holding his own with his assailant; he had learnt enough about fighting, that even though he no longer was as fast or strong as Spider-Man, he was still no push-over. But she had no time to dwell on how he was doing; here came two more, approaching her with more caution than the previous two. 

To aid her pretence, Erica dropped into a typical martial arts pose, as she had seen in all those kung-fu movies she used to see on television as a girl. She grinned at the play-acting and was pleased to see her grin had the added bonus of disconcerting her two attackers. As they hesitated, Erica called out to them, in a high clear voice, "If you leave us now, I promise I won't hurt you… much." 

This had the opposite effect, and they both charged at once, banking on the old two-against-one odds. It didn't work for them.

Erica side-stepped one whilst disarming him with a back-hand slap of her left hand, and at the same instant she twisted and lashed out with her foot to disarm the other. They both recoiled but recovered quickly, each going at her from either side at once. 

'I've always wanted to do this,' thought Erica, and she leapt straight up as they reached her, spinning and kicking each leg out in a parody of a karate kick, "Hii-ya!" She felt her feet connect and both men dropped to the ground, stunned. 

The tingling at the base of her skull warned her of someone behind her; no, it was someone behind Pete, sneaking up on him while he was occupied fighting. 

Erica didn't spend the time thinking, she reacted quickly to aid him, throwing herself at the attacker's legs with a low rugby tackle. They went sprawling to the ground, Erica curling herself into a ball and rolling away to jump up again a couple of metres away. Unfortunately, the action directly behind him had disturbed Peter's concentration for a second, and he missed blocking a swipe at him from his assailant's knife. It sliced through his clothing into the flesh of his upper right arm as he partly turned to see what was happening. He clutched at his arm in shock, as blood immediately started to darken his jacket under his fingers; a moment later he hissed with the pain. 

Erica caught sight of this as she came upright. Peter's assaulter was about to take advantage of his shock, and use his knife again while Peter was vulnerable. Erica's spidey-sense flared up chronically, but she didn't need it to tell her the danger.

Enraged, and using all her spider speed, she leapt and knocked the attacker's arm away from Peter, then, still in a rage, picked him up by his front and threw him as hard as she could away from her. He went flying through the air and landed in the middle of the deserted street with a crunching thud.

"Oh Lord, what have I done?" Erica wailed. It was no longer a game. Through her carelessness, Peter had been injured, and through her uncontrolled anger, she had possibly badly injured another person. 

Her stomach sank, and she could hear her blood rushing in her ears. She turned to Peter, who was still standing there, wide-eyed, with blood slowly dripping from his wound. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered to him, shocked herself, "I didn't mean for you to get hurt." 

With an effort that Erica could feel, Peter attempted to shrug it off. "It's not your fault. It's mine if anybody's. I've received worse than this before."

"Yes, but…"

"No buts. If you hadn't stopped the guy behind me, it may well have _been_ worse." 

"We've got to get you to a doctor's… you may need stitches with the amount of blood coming out there. Here, wait." 

Erica unzipped her fleece jacket, untucked her shirt and ripped a couple of strips of cotton off from around the bottom hem to use as bandages. "Just like in the movies," she joked, though she didn't feel the slightest bit amused. 

Trusting in her spider sense to warn her if any of their attackers recovered enough for a second round, Erica helped Peter off with his jacket. He grimaced from the pain, but said nothing. Erica started to roll up his shirt sleeve, then thought 'what the heck, it's ruined anyway', and simply ripped the whole sleeve off, carefully, so as to not jar the injured arm. She inspected the wound as closely as she could in the dim light; it appeared to be a deep but straight cut, going diagonally from the front of the upper arm down towards the elbow, but she couldn't tell if it was clean or not. Erica took the sleeve she had torn off and folded it up into a pad, which she placed directly over the wound. She then used the strips from her shirt to wrap around the arm and hold the pad in place. 

"There, that should hold it, at least 'til we get it seen to properly." She placed Peter's jacket over his shoulders. He looked down at his arm and then at Erica's shirt.

"That's _two_ of my shirts you've ruined," he said. 

Erica couldn't tell if he was kidding for her benefit or his. She looked down at the tatters of the shirt, realising that an awful lot of the front of her Spider-Man costume was exposed. Quickly, she zipped up her fleece jacket again. 

She then left Peter for a moment and walked across the street to where the man lay. He was moaning softly, and to her astonishment only appeared to have had the wind knocked out of him. But how? She shuffled him lightly with her foot and heard the crunching sound once more; it was coming from his clothing - his large bulky overcoat seemed to be lined with something, something that provided insulation and had cushioned his fall. Erica decided not to investigate any further, and left him where he lay. 

Going back to Peter, she said, "Let's flick our wick - and get outta here." 

This was no longer the time or place to try out the new foam formula; that would have to wait for now.

"That's it, we're almost home," Erica reassured Peter, as she supported his weight and helped him walk the last few metres to the door of their building. The taxi had dropped them off as close as it could get, but it was still almost too far for Peter to make in his state. The doctor at the clinic he'd directed Erica to earlier had not only cleaned and stitched his wound for him, but had administered painkillers and a powerful sedative, which had now started taking affect. 

They reached the entrance, and Erica propped Peter up as she fished in his jacket pocket for his keys. She unlocked the door and again supported Peter as they entered into the building. Locking the door behind her, she turned in time to see Peter slump to the floor. "Oh, stuff it!" she muttered to herself, then knowing there was no-one around to witness her action, lifted Peter easily off the floor and cradled him with her right arm so that his injured arm in it's sling was away from her body. 

"Thank goodness you're so skinny, eh. Makes you easier to handle." 

The lift was already there, so she carried him into it, talking the whole time as it trundled up to their floor. "I should've slipped off a bit earlier back there and become Spider-Man, that way I could have gone all out on those jokers without this sort of hoo-haa happening."

"Can't we go out anywhere without you having to take off and turn into Spidey?" Peter complained teasingly, slurring his words. 

"You can talk! Oh well, at least it keeps me off the streets. I mean, it keeps me _above_ the streets - busier than a blue-arsed fly!"

Peter gave a faint chuckle. Erica looked down at him, and saw he was barely awake. If he had been more conscious, he would have protested at being carried, she figured. 

Once in the flat, she laid him gently onto his bed. He was totally out of it by now, but Erica knew she shouldn't leave him in his blood-stained clothes. Quickly, and pretending he was someone she didn't know, Erica deftly stripped him out of his outer garments and pulled his duvet over his sleeping form. She looked down at him and sighed. Sleep was the best thing for him now. Meanwhile, she had other concerns to see to…

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A/N: Thanks for the reviews - it's good to know that someone's reading and enjoying!

Cheers,

Apteryx


	21. Wrapsody' in Grey

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A/N: OK Spidey fans, more action abounds this chapter! Don't go away!

(and excuse the title pun…)

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Chapter 21: 'Wrapsody' in Grey.

A soft momentary susurration filled the air as Spidey passed by on her webs. She was swinging over Greenwich Village on her way to Beak Nose's place, playing on a hunch. Her spidey sense should soon tell her whether it was a waste of her time or not, but she hoped she was right; it was about time something good happened today. 

There she blows! Spidey landed on the edge of parapet at the back of Beaky's apartment building, and immediately leant over the edge and started crawling down the rough brickwork exterior. Man, but this wall-crawling business was still freaky at times. Erica shut her eyes tight for a moment, then opened them, finding herself still adhering to the wall face-down. 

Snapping herself out of her fleeting disorientation, she angled herself sideways and skittered around the corner of the building. She gave a little leap off the wall to avoid an air-conditioning unit, and landed back on all fours, like a cat that had jumped in surprise. Or a spider… Spidey cornered again, and carefully approached Beak Nose's lounge window. She cautiously peered over the side of the window frame to discover… the curtains had been drawn. 

Her spider-sense told her someone was home, and she wondered if old Beaky was entertaining visitors; he hadn't bothered to draw curtains last night, and she got the impression it wasn't an activity he had the habit of. 

Spidey turned and went back the way she had come. The AC unit was near a window that possibly led to a bedroom, and she meant to enter through it if she could and see who was inside. The window was not locked; as quietly as she was able, Spidey pushed the sash open and climbed through into the darkened room. She kept on climbing; in this situation, the ceiling was the safest place to be, to remain unseen up in the shadows of the high-stud rooms. 

Crawling through the door opening was so like climbing over a low wall that Spidey chuckled silently to herself, remembering a story she had read as a child about a man who tricked some plaguey mice by gluing all his furniture upside-down to the ceiling - they had all fainted from shock, believing themselves to be sticking to the ceiling. 

Well, she was like those mice, except it was real and she was not going to faint… 

A light showed through the open door of the lounge up ahead. Spidey stayed in the hall and poked her head so she could see under the door jamb into the room. There was Beak Nose, and with him, Mouse Hair, who had his back to her, as before. 

Beak Nose's profile was shown to great advantage as they sat in armchairs drawn up closely together around a coffee table that as well as the ubiquitous PDAs, had papers strewn over it. Spidey wished she could see what the papers were, or what they were talking about on their PDAs. 

So far, she had very little information on these mute powerhouses; her wee side-trip this morning back to the community building had been spectacularly uninformative, even going as a visitor from New Zealand, interested in the US approach to language therapy. Knowing how Americans loved statistics, she'd asked the tall blonde woman who was the secretary of the local organisation, the numbers of different reasons their clients needed their services. 

'Um, cancer of the tongue, for instance?' 

'Oh, very rare - can only think of one, a dear old man of 83 who had unfortunately been a heavy smoker all his life…' 

Spidey didn't think that description fitted Beaky, not unless he were a lot older than he looked. 

She quickly whipped her head back a bit - Mouse had stood up, throwing off his coat as he did so, revealing him to be dressed head to toe in the close-fitting grey fatigues of the cult. He faced Beak Nose, and carried out a curious little ritual that looked to Spidey's eyes almost like a Muslim salute; hand to mouth, then moving down to touch his chest over his heart. Were these some sort of Muslim terrorists then? She rapidly skittered back down the hall into the far shadows by the bedroom door, as Mouse turned to take his leave. 

This was the occasion for a tracer, thought Spidey, as she threw one to land accurately on his back as he came out of the lounge. She waited until he had left the front door before swiftly exiting the same way she had entered. 

Outside, she breathed out a huge sigh; keeping _that_ silent sure played on the nerves. What was he up to? Spidey had the impression that Mouse was on a mission. As she flittered from building to building, following Mouse, she realised she hadn't yet seen his face, not only that, but she couldn't just swoop down on him and try to get some answers from him; how would he tell? And now he was headed for…. Washington Square? No, not the Square itself; the subway station. How was she going to follow him now? 

She dropped to the ground outside the subway entrance Mouse had entered, and stood very briefly in uffish thought. She might be able to slip in unobserved, and see which train he took; if she remembered correctly what Peter had told her about some stations… 

Keeping to the roof of the station, it was straight-forward for Spidey to lightly manoeuvre herself so that she was hidden above the large cylindrical pipes that made up the service ducting. Slithering along, scanning the platform below with two disparate senses, she spied the object of her hunt in amongst the other travellers; the back of Mouse's head as he waited for the train. Spidey waited, slightly confused, listening to the announcements broadcast out over the cavernous area. She really would have to get the Metro system sorted out. 

The train pulled in, C line, Uptown, destined for Washington Heights/168th St, stopping at points along the way… Spidey read the information on the carriages, but needed some more; a map. Peter wouldn't have this problem, she grumbled to herself… 

Quickly, keeping an eye on Mouse to be sure that he was taking that train and not another, she raced along the top of the pipe towards the ticket booth. A large-scale map was attached to the wall nearby, but she didn't want to get close enough to read it and take the chance that Mouse might look back and see her. 

The train started pulling out; Spidey noticed a pile of the free maps in a display stand and sent down a gossamer-thin strand of web to snatch one up. Tucking it into her belt as she swiftly made her way out of the station and not bothering now about being seen, as Mouse was safely invisible in the departing subway car, Spidey reached the street level and immediately headed uptown on her webs. 

If she'd had her clothes with her, then she could have taken the same train… Spidey mused as she travelled from station to station along the route of the C line train. She knew she wouldn't be fast enough to keep up with it, even with it stopping at each stop, but she hoped that her spider-sense would pick up the tracer when Mouse left the train and she could catch up with him then. 

On she went, heading north and glad that she was no longer coughing at all - that would slow her down, but so would tiredness; how far up was Mouse going? 

Up past Times Square, past Columbus circle; she'd covered almost half the length of Manhattan with no tickle from the tracer at all. She had reached the station at 72nd Street, on Central Park West, and had plopped down on a canopy near the entrance to scan around with her sense, but mainly to have a breather while she had the chance. 

There. The faintest tickle, gradually becoming stronger as the tracer, and Mouse, neared. The back of his head appeared, bobbing upwards to street level as he exited the subway station along with a small gush of people. 

How about that? Spidey had got there before the train! There must have been a hold up of some kind, she thought, as she watched Mouse walk unhurriedly down the street, and stop a way. 

These were some of New York's most expensive and exclusive addresses, though perhaps not as elegant as those across the Park - though just here was the famous Dakota building. However, Mouse had not stopped there, but at the next building; an apartment hotel that was still an address to aspire to. 

He was paused there so long, that Spidey began to wonder if he were waiting for someone, or a signal. Then she saw him walk up to the front door, try it, and step in. Didn't these kind of places have fancy flunkies, door-men or something to keep the riffraff out? A horrible thought struck her - what if he _lived_ here! 

Alighting neatly on the stone frontage, Spidey began finessing her tracking of the spider-tracer, trying to pin-point it's whereabouts inside. Ah, there. She crept lithely up the facade, following her trace until it stopped about three-quarters of the way up the building. 

She jumped lightly onto the balcony and peered unobtrusively into the closest window, where she saw a living area larger than the whole of Peter's flat, done up in the type of decor that said 'I don't need to be trendy when I can afford to have these little pieces to use everyday'. Indirect lighting gleamed discreetly off gilded and glazed surfaces; intimate groupings of furniture that was both plush and uncomfortable looking at the same time were dotted about the room; and to one side, a black walnut writing desk was open, revealing computer equipment that was normally hidden by cabinet doors when not in use. 

It was being used at this moment by a large man in his late fifties who was comfortably upholstered himself. He looked up towards the other end of the room where the interior door was, as if he had heard a knock; a second later, Mouse burst in. 

Spidey almost gasped aloud - this was the first time she had seen his face, and it appeared that more than his tongue had been mutilated - but there was no time to dwell on this; Mouse was bearing down onto his would-be victim, and from his attitude, he wasn't there to have a cosy chat. 

Without any more ado, Spidey leapt in through the window, crossing her arms to protect her head from the glass that showered inwards. Mouse stepped away from his target, and grabbed the nearest chair which he threw, hard, at Spidey. She leapt up to the ceiling to avoid it, heard it crash on the carpet and at the same time heard a small moan of anguish from the apartment's occupier. 

"Thanks anyway, but I didn't want a seat," she quipped. 

Using her spider speed she jumped down from her perch, landing on her hands, and doing a handspring so that her feet hit him in the ribs, and knocked him sideways. She knew what to expect in a fight with these guys; knew how strong they were and she was prepared. No pulling punches, and don't let any of his connect. 

Mouse regained his balance and swung a hit at Spidey; "Missed!" she quickly ducked under his arm and struck him on the chin, then leapt away before he could close in on her again. 

"You've got the complexion of an oxidised potato, this can only be an improvement!" she taunted. 

He staggered slightly, but turned and charged for her, knocking over an occasional table and the _object d'art_ displayed on it, and breaking pieces underfoot as he went. Another moan issued from the side of the room. Spidey waited until Mouse was close, then shot some webbing into his eyes as she sprung clear. "See?" 

He automatically raised his hands to tear it from his deeply pitted face, but blinded, crashed into the wall, and the large ornate pier mirror.

As the fine shards of glass came raining down on him, Spidey grabbed Mouse by the front, hoisted him up and slugged him with her fist. He went crashing back into the broken mirror, and Spidey was left holding the torn shreds ripped from his grey uniform. And something else... a red ribbon? She stepped closer to him and bent down over his prostate form, inspecting his chest - there, some more of the ribbon. Carefully, she pulled it out then folded it and tucked it inside her boot - it may be of interest to her later - and removed the spider tracer from his clothing while she was about it. 

She had forgotten the intended victim, until a querulous voice behind her interrupted her in the process of webbing Mouse immobile.

"That was a French Rococo mirror. Who's going to pay for all this damage?"

Spidey slowly turned her opaque eyes onto the man. "A simple 'thank-you' would suffice for saving your life."

When the portly man still complained, she added, "Or how about you get on the blower to Sergeant Bill Hudson at Midtown South Precinct, and tell him Spider-Man's left a gift-wrapped pressie for him; I'm sure he'll want to know." 

She bounced over to the window, followed by even louder complaints, and paused there for a moment. She raised a hand.

"Nope, no more thanks, please. You're making me blush!" and the next moment, she was gone.

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A/N: Yes, another one! Thanks for the reviews. I love sharing my story, and I'm just glad that some people appreciate it. I have the whole thing plotted out, and I know exactly where I'm going with it, but the writing of it is getting a bit slower now - trying not to repeat myself or drop any 'stitches' of the plot, so to speak. Ideas? Well, I started with the idea of Spider-Man losing his powers (it's happened before…) and once I had that, others started coming - out of the ether I suppose, though often I can visualise the scenes, and they're so real, but I just can't do justice to them with my descriptions… I can see why people become film directors!

Cheers, Apteryx


	22. More Questions Any Answers?

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A/N: Hope this story isn't going too slow for you all - I wanted to explore characters and their emotions as well; not just action, action, action all the way. There are plenty other stories to read if that's all you want :) 

(Though there _is_ action in here all the same **-** and more to come!)

Cheers,

Apteryx

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Chapter 22: More Questions…Any Answers?

Spidey sat in typical Spidey-fashion on one of the Midtown high-rises south of Central Park and reviewed the evening's activities to herself. Here it was, not even midnight, and what had she achieved? Not an awful lot. Well, besides stopping a bloke from being killed and having his tongue ripped out… 

She thought about Peter; he may well have had worse injuries, but he'd healed quickly from them by virtue of his spider powers - not this one though. She recalled the time when she had had her leg slashed open by a boat knife in an accident, and it had taken two weeks for it to heal enough so she wasn't in pain every time she moved her leg. It was another few weeks until it was completely healed. And Pete's arm…? In the meantime, both their jobs would be that much harder. She sighed. 

Now she'd rested, she'd better move on across town to her next stop, the Moroney Clinic; she wanted to see just what was in that tunnel. 'I'm not as sanguine on this one as Pete,' she thought, as she shot out web-lines, 'though he was probably lying anyway… but if Doc Ock attempted to put Spider-Man away before, he _will_ try again; and since he's been keeping a low profile recently, he'll either hire another joker to do the job, or he'll wait until his plans have finished. Whatever, he won't be expecting Spider-Man to be after him already… _Big_ but though; _I_ don't want him finding out either. I'll have to be certain he's not in when I go in.'

The red-and-blue garbed figure dropped silently down into the deserted courtyard, directly in front of the doorway of the outbuilding. Stealthily, Spidey opened the door and slipped in. All was well so far; not even the slightest buzz from her extra sense. 

Spread up on the wall near the door, she looked about at her surroundings, taking it all in. To the left was an impressive set of electronic surveillance equipment, banks of screens such as she had only seen in films. Currently, nobody was watching them - someone may get in trouble later for that, she thought, wondering where the security guard could be; if the other night was any indication, he was presumably out sneaking a smoke. 

There was some plant machinery ahead; a cooling system, and what looked to be an air filtering bizzo, maybe something else - Spidey couldn't tell. The noise from the machinery was enough that normal conversation was impossible; concentrating in such an environment would be a hard job for the security guy. 

Ducting and pipes spread across the low ceiling from the plant, leading to the right, then across to enter a large gap further along in the wall that Spidey was on. She moved along until she reached the opening, poked her head round the corner, where a flight of stairs ended at a gently sloping floor of a tunnel. 

Staying on the wall, Spidey cautiously yet nimbly followed the path of the ducting. She suddenly realised she must have guessed right about the tunnel, and here it was showing it's age; it was brick and tile-lined, with a channelled cobble-stoned floor. Bare low-wattage light bulbs shone at long intervals, making the blackness even more so. Spidey was happy with this - less chance of being spotted. As she travelled down, the humming sound of the machinery became indistinct, and she could hear the sound of dripping water, although the walls were still dry. 

Eventually, she felt the wall beneath her fingers become damp - she must be nearing the river - and a little further along the bricks were slimy, a slick green algae whose growth was more luxuriant where the dim light fell. Spidey climbed higher and started crawling along the ducting pipes; these had evidently been installed over a century later, and weren't slippery - even with her ability to stick to surfaces, she had found her grip sliding on the algae-covered bricks. A small stream was now gurgling in the channel on the ground, and water ran down the curved walls to join the flow. 

Bulbs were gone in places, causing Spidey to peer ahead into the darkness, trying to see where the tunnel led to; did it come out at the Penitentiary ruins on the other side? No, it seemed not. 

There was a brightening glow of light, of a different quality to the dim bulbs, the tunnel suddenly rounded a corner, and there, revealed in fluorescent lighting was what appeared to be a modern laboratory set-up. Expensive looking electronic equipment vied with traditional test-tubes and beakers all crowded into a space the size of half a tennis court. Some of that ducting must carry the power and communication cables as well. 

Spidey all at once wished that Peter were here to see this - wait, she had the miniature camera with her. Quickly, she removed it from her belt and snapped a few general shots of the lab, then went in further, snapping different details as she did so. She was careful to take close-up shots of any labels, and, opening drawers to check the contents as she moved around the perimeter of the room, any notes. 

She found a notebook lying next to a computer monitor, and opened it to read it; it was goobledegook as far as she was concerned. Thankful again for the camera, she turned the pages and took photos; Peter should be able to decipher these later. Taking a regretful glance at the computer, she decided that it was too risky to start it up - Ock would easily discover an unauthorised attempt to log on - Spidey continued her exploration.

There were two doors set in one wall; both were closed, and one had a huge bolt across it. This was where Spidey headed next, but she was puzzled; there was no lock on this door, only the bolt, presumably to keep someone or some_thing_ in. Her spider sense was dormant; told her nothing about the other side. 

She was preparing to lift the bolt and open the door to look inside, when her spider sense did go off, and not because of the door - steps could be heard echoing down the tunnel. Hurriedly, she sprang for the roof again, and scuttled quickly to the entrance of the room where she hoped the shadows, and the piping, would keep her hidden. 

From her vantage point, she could see both the tunnel and the lab interior, and coming down the tunnel was someone carrying a torch, shining it's bobbing beam on the ground to avoid the shallow puddles; pooled water that had missed the rivulet in the central gutter. 

A tall man with very short receding dark hair and dressed in a white boiler-suit, shoulders hunched as if it were a perpetual habit, or maybe he just didn't like the damp from the tunnel, passed below Spidey's hiding place and into the lab. 

He took a small object from his breast pocket and set it on a workbench while he opened a cupboard above him and removed some sort of appliance that looked an awful lot like a see-through I-mac version of a crock-pot. Opening the lid, he grasped a test-tube from it and placed it in a convenient rack. He then donned latex gloves and a surgeon's mask, and got a pair of tiny tongs from a drawer. 

The small object was next; it was a container - Spidey watched, intrigued, as a practically invisible slither of substance, now a translucent white as the overhead strip lighting caught it, was lifted from it and delicately put into the test-tube, which was then sealed and labelled and replaced into the appliance. On it went, making a high pitch whirring noise, sitting there vibrating slightly. 

The man, satisfied with the machine, removed his mask and gloves and went over to the computer monitor that was attached to another hi-tech looking device, to start an unknown application up - the light from the screen reflected off his large round glasses. Spidey watched him at the computer for another minute, took a glance at the machine still whirring away on the bench, and decided that she wouldn't learn any more by hanging around here - she had to leave while her presence was still undiscovered. 

Silently, she slipped away up the tunnel, faster now that she knew the territory ahead. The security guard would be back at his station now, she guessed, she would have to get past him somehow. Difficult, given he had only just taken a break; maybe she could create a small diversion. Poking her head round the corner, she saw the guard watching the video screens. Still using the pipes as cover, she crawled onto the top of the plant machinery and peered down at the control panel. Maybe if she fiddled with a few of the controls… 

Upside down, and ready to leap away instantly, she turned a dial and flipped a couple of switches at random. A loud whooshing sound filled the small pre-fab, as an excessive rush of air was blown through the plant's filter. Spidey scurried back behind the piping, and close by the entrance of the tunnel, ready to leap across the wall and through the door as soon as the guard had his back to her, checking out the controls of the plant unit. The guard jumped up from his seat and surveyed the control panel, desperately trying to work out how to adjust it back to normal before he got into trouble. Spidey slipped out undetected, as she had planned. She was also fortunate that the other guard was elsewhere on his rounds and she was able to leap up the side of an apartment building and hasten away.

Erica stood looking down at Peter asleep. His breathing was deep and regular, and he appeared not to have moved at all since Erica left last night. Making sure the window blind was cutting out the daylight, Erica silently left the bedroom and left him to continue sleeping. She checked the time, a bit after eight a.m.; it shouldn't be too early to ring Mary-Jane, to tell her that Pete was hurt. It wasn't a phone call Erica was looking forward to. 

The ringing went on for a while - what if Mary-Jane had left for work already… Finally, the phone was picked up at the other end and answered by a sleepy voice.

"Hello?"

"Um, hi. Is that Mary-Jane?"

"Who is this?"

"It's Erica Stirling… Pete's 'cousin'. Um, I hope I didn't wake you? I thought you might be up by now…"

There was a pause. "It's five a.m. In the morning…"

"Ohh no!" Erica covered her eyes with her hand in frustration and annoyance with herself, "I forgot the time difference! I'm sorry, I…"

"It's O.K," interrupted Mary-Jane with a sigh, "I have to get up in half an hour anyway - early shoot. So, why are you calling? Is it about Peter?"

"Yeah, I… He got hurt last night. In a mugging. Got knifed in the arm, a bad gash…"

"How is he?"

"He's asleep, the doctor gave him something to make him sleep, but I think he'll be a wee bit sore when he wakes…"

"Hang on..." Erica heard a rustling, then silence.

"You there?"

"Yes." 

"I can fly in this afternoon - I'll have to cancel one job, but the rest I can re-schedule."

"Oh, you don't have to do that…"

"I want to. I'm his wife, even if… Where were you when this happened?"

Erica could hear the faint accusatory note in MJ's voice. She knew how bad her explanation was going to sound to her. "I was next to him, busy with four of them, but I'm afraid it _is_ my fault he got hurt. He was attacked by two at once. I was… limited…"

"I see."

Erica sighed. "I'd rather tell you the full story, perhaps when you get here? Jeez, I hate all this…" she said vehemently.

"You're not the only one. I'll see you both later this afternoon. Have you told Aunt May yet?"

"No…" 

"Don't, until I get there. Bye for now."

"Bye, and thanks." Erica replaced the handset on the phone, not sure whether Mary-Jane had heard her thanks before she hung up. She was at a loss what to do now; she couldn't leave Peter when he possibly may wake soon, either to go into the Bugle to work, or to have a swing about as Spider-Man. Perhaps it was time to evaluate where she was at…

Dr Ock was definitely up to something - carrying out secret research in a hidden laboratory. He and his accomplice - possibly Dr Whithead? - had something shut up in there. Maybe their test subjects… She'd have to go back there and have a proper search - look at their computer too. She needed Peter to develop the photos she took, and see if he could tell anything about what was going on, using his scientific knowledge. Though come to think of it… 

There was a one-hour-photo place in the shop at the bottom of the building. Erica got the film from the camera and took the stairs quickly down. The shop had just opened so she handed the film over to get processed, knowing there was nothing on it that looked suspicious. While she was out, she ran to the corner newsagent and bought that morning's Daily Bugle. 

She bounded back up - she was gone only a few minutes, and there was still no sound from the bedroom. She sat back at the table with her pencil and paper, and opened her Bugle - parts of it were quite a good laugh really. The front page had room on it devoted to yesterday's fire; photos by Peter Parker. He'd also taken a shot of her talking to the fire crew and Hudson - the sergeant was quoted in the article thanking Spider-Man for his help. How did that get past JJ? Erica grinned. Jonah must be treading gently where his dealings with the sarge were involved. 

She flicked slowly through the rest of the paper, stopping at one article which caught her eye; 'Clinic Treats Coma Victims', Senator Ellis, Dick Knowles, and the city official recently struck down, Dean Azzopardi, were all under treatment at the Moroney Clinic. Dr Whithead was assuring about their chances, even with the exact provenance of the virus unknown. He and his colleagues were hoping to try a new therapy on their patients, which if successful, could lead to a break-through in the treatment of coma victims, and possibly other nervous system disorders.

"Hmmm," said Erica aloud to herself, as she ripped the article out, "Does this tie in at all with the Chair of Neuro-Science Ock is after?"

"Does what tie in?"

Erica turned sideways at the sound of the voice. Peter was up, and leaning in the doorway of his room. He had pulled on a pair of trousers, but a shirt must have been beyond him; he was bare-chested. Erica was unsure how to treat him - he _sounded_ O.K, so she decided to down-play his injured arm; Pete had very likely had enough of over-solicitous females in the past. 

"Here, read for yourself." Erica handed the article over to Peter, who took it with his good arm and read. 

Erica described her recce to the Moroney Clinic the night before. Peter listened in silence.

"You took photos? Where's the film?"

"Taiho a mo, I'll go get it," she said, looking at the clock, and leaving a bewildered Peter standing there as she left the flat and jumped downstairs. 

Barely an hour had passed, but because she had been the first customer for the day, the negatives and prints were ready and waiting for her. Erica shuffled through them, paid for them and left, with the staff behind her smiling at her exuberance.

"Here!" Erica bounded in through the front door, banging it closed after her; Peter was in the kitchen, one-handedly trying to put the percolator together, and finding it a bit difficult. 

He said nonchalantly to Erica as she came in, "Could you give me a hand with this?"

"Sure!" She threw the packet of photos on the table and bounded over to the kitchen and took the perc off him. While she was filling it with water, he went into his bedroom and came back with a shirt.

"Hey, ah, can you help me with my shirt too? I feel like a bird with a busted wing…"

"No probs," said Erica, taking the sling off and mindful of his wound, easing his shirt on before replacing the sling. She chattered on, "At least it's not your shoulder this time - you've sprained and injured it so often, you'd think you'd be used to doing stuff one-armed…" She broke off as she caught a glimpse of Peter's face. Oh shit, she'd talked without thinking again, 'Cripes this mouth of mine's going to land me in it one day…' 

Quickly she changed the subject. "The photos all came out," she said, going over to the table and picking them up and handing them to Pete, who came and sat down to look at them. He peered at them closely, looking at the detail.

"Describe the machine you saw again?"

Erica did so, and Peter grunted and sat back in his chair, staring into the middle distance, thinking, for a short time. 

"That machine was a centrifugal separator, used for obtaining the different components from blood or tissue samples. Sounds like they were using a tissue sample in it when you saw it in action. Now, some of these other items are interesting…" 

Peter tapped the photos. "This one is a homogeniser, used when mixing liquids. And this… this is a Biomek system, a totally automated workstation - this one is top of the line, what all the best bioresearch labs are wearing nowadays. I'd say, seeing that and all the rest, that they're working at a very small molecular level, perhaps even to DNA… I see no reason why this all has to be hidden, unless they're working on developing a irregular gene-therapy or virus. This equipment could well be the stuff that was stolen too - which would explain why. If I could only see some of their working notes…"

"Keep going; I took some of a notebook I found - couldn't make head or tail of it myself…"

Peter squinted closely, his eyes almost watering with the effort after a while. "It's no good, I'll need a magnifying glass, and these enlarged to read them properly, but from the few words I can make out, yup, viruses are all the rage."

"I was figuring I'll have to go down again, eh - I want to see behind that door for a start…"

"It's dangerous."

"Of course it is. So am I."

"I don't like it - what is he up to? Perhaps you were right the other day when you suggested a link between the coma virus and Doc Ock. Argh! And now I'm incapacitated even more than I was." 

An incredibly frustrated Peter Parker got up from his chair and started pacing on the worn lino. Erica could see he was determined to carry on despite his arm. She still hadn't told him Mary-Jane was on her way, but she doubted even Mary-Jane could keep him contained for long. Aunt May would work better, but he'd become even more frustrated with the restrictions she'd impose, even if it was done in love. 

"Your brains still work," suggested Erica, "You could be the brains behind the operation, and I'll be the brawn. What shall I do next?"

"Pour me a coffee?" Peter calmed down.

"Oh, did I tell you Mary-Jane was going to be in New York again?" Erica said with a studied casualness as she handed Peter his coffee. "I spoke to her earlier this morning."

"Did you tell her…?"

"Yes I did. She blames me of course, but I don't mind too much. If it stops her being mad at you…"

Coffee sloshed over the lip of the cup as Peter inadvertently thumped it on the table with his left hand. He looked suddenly tired again, lines of strain showing on his face, but he didn't say anything. He looked annoyed that he had given himself away by his reaction. Erica silently went into the kitchen and came back with a glass of water and a couple of tablets.

"What are these?" 

"Painkillers. The doctor last night gave me a few for you. Take them."

"I'm all right."

"Take them now." She stood over him until he reluctantly popped them into his mouth and swallowed them. Erica guessed his arm was hurting more than he was willing to admit.

He abruptly gathered up the discarded newspaper, rolled it and tucked it under his arm, then picked up his cup. Without using his arms at all, he stood carefully, balancing momentarily on his toes, before stepping out to his bedroom door.

"I'm going to have a lie down," he said, his eyes avoiding hers. "Read the paper and drink my coffee in peace." 

The door he kicked closed behind him, maybe not harder than was intended.

Erica sank down in his vacated chair, feeling a hot tide rising in her face and placing her hands over her cheeks to cool them.

Pete had every right to call her an interfering old cow if he wished, she thought, and Mary-Jane too. What were her motives in ringing her? It couldn't be purely concern for Peter… He didn't seem to like her very much just now - was it only the pain from his injury, or something more; the strain of living with a stranger, the shock and disorientation of the major change in his life, the uncertainty of it all? She ran a hand through her hair.

Look, here she was, worrying over Pete, what of herself? 

She was finding herself increasingly comfortable - more than that; almost fitting, point to point, into the skin and persona - as Spider-Man, something she couldn't have imagined only a week ago. 

Was it only a week? It seemed much longer... Not having much in the way of connections, people or places, in this universe, it was easy to sublimate herself in her role as Spidey, easy to lose some of her own identity. She saw herself while here, beginning as a sort of _tabula rasa_, layered upon her own experience, and with the layers of Spider-Man's past under all of that. She was busy inscribing her layer of Spider-Man, and knew that even if… when she got back home, Spider-Man would never be quite the same again; the experience of someone else in his role would affect how he was as Spider-Man himself, like being conscious of the previous owner of an item of clothing - both she and Peter would inevitably be changed.

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	23. Peace and Interlude

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A/N: Sorry if it's getting longer between posts - life and all that, ya know. Anyway, enjoy this chapter!

Apteryx

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Chapter 23: Peace and Interlude.

Eyes unfocused, Erica sat for a while not really thinking at all, just letting images roll over in her head, like an internal cinema screen showing experimental films; frantic action, one-shot frames, a slowing and quickening of frame-speeds, loops, pans and extreme close-ups, in the style of an early Len Lye. 

Her mind stopped at one image; the red ribbon. 

She had forgotten about it. Getting up, she moved over to the couch, where she had hidden the Spider-Man costume and dug out the boots; she was about to stick her hand in to retrieve it, but paused, with the unaccountable feeling that she shouldn't touch it with her bare fingers. Sub-rationalising this feeling as the possibility of leaving fingerprints, she pulled on the costume's gloves before pulling out the ribbon, and felt immediately more at ease. 

She studied the length of ribbon closely, noting its texture, a finely woven herring-bone and its hue, a bright blood red, undoubtedly symbolic. It had no markings along it, but appeared to be a quite plain, cotton ribbon. Then she became aware of a smell - she brought it up to her nose to give a light sniff. It was not the sour, almost fibre-glass resin smell of a man's body odour, or even, she humorously reflected, the musty smell from the boot, but something more acid, a chemical smell that she couldn't place. 

She rubbed the ribbon against itself, there was a faint squeaking sound, so faint it was almost a sensation rather than an audible noise. Curiously, she wondered what caused the ribbon to make a noise like that; normally the only noise cotton made was a soft rustling. Could it be… could it be the fabric was impregnated with a chemical? Perhaps Peter would be able to tell. 

Oh. Well now wasn't the best time to ask him… 

Erica searched around the flat until she found an empty plastic bag, into which she carefully placed the ribbon, then sealed it, and put it on the table. She stripped off her gloves and stood contemplating her costume, sighing; she didn't feel she could go off and totally leave Peter by himself, but she wanted to do _something_. 

Thus, a few minutes later saw Erica in the hallway and stair well outside the flat, working off her excess energy by performing a bizarre aerial ballet, an acrobatic circus act that could have been taking place in orbit, so gravity-free did her caprioles seem; the feather-light landings on floor, walls and ceiling emphasised that weightlessness. She was pretending villains were coming at her from all sides, and was practising both avoiding them and fighting them. Her movements became faster and more frenzied - to anyone watching, she would have appeared all but mad. 

Nobody was there however, and nobody saw her finally come to a halt, panting slightly, outside the open door of the apartment. Taking a glance at it, she sprang up onto the ceiling and started crawling carefully down the stairwell, keeping herself hidden. 

She was thinking of how people tended not to look up, and maybe it was something of a trait for New Yorkers, but it was that very thing that was so useful to her as Spidey. To New York natives, looking up could give you a crick in your neck, and mark you out for a rube. Same indoors; why look at a vast expanse of plain, lit, ceiling, when there were so many other things to keep the eye occupied. 

Erica was grateful for that as she came down to a level that was frequented by customers of studios. Through the wired glass of the double fire safety doors, she could she two doors opposite each other, both with a frosted glass window set into them painted with the name of each photographic studio. Erica could imagine how the competition for clients between them was fierce, and was imagining, cartoon-style, an escalating war of signage, when a man stepped out of one of the doors. 

He was an older man of medium height, clothes neither here nor there as far as distinction went, but he carried himself as though they were weighing him down by their very fact of being. His morose expression set in a face that perhaps could only achieve variations of moroseness, its puffy, jowly cheeks and baggy eyes and a bottom lip that more fell out than jutted, made him seem the world's fall guy. A Basset hound, that's what he resembled to her. 

She recognised him from somewhere… 

He was walking towards her, towards the lift, when she felt the slight but insistent tingling of her spider-sense. It was enough to remind her; the man that had set off her spider-sense outside the Criminal Courts building downtown.

This was something that needed her attention, but mindful of Peter upstairs, she knew she couldn't change into Spidey and follow the man; well, she couldn't anyway, the costume was still back in the flat, drying. She needed to know why this man had set her sense off twice. Moving quickly back into the shadows of the stairwell, she dropped to the ground and walked up the few steps back up to the floor level. 

The man was still waiting for the old elevator to arrive with its slow, shuddering progress; Erica was pleased it was so cranky as it gave her the time she wanted to walk through the fire doors and past the man, as if she were a client visiting one of the studios. As she passed behind him, she whipped out one of the spider tracers and pretended to bump into him. 

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed as she slipped the tracer under the back of his jacket, to adhere to the lining unseen. 

The man turned to look at her, his dark eyes sad, although close up, Erica could see a certain cunning there too. 

"Think nothing of it," he said, scrutinising her intently. Erica felt flushed under his gaze, though it only lasted a couple of seconds. His voice, unexpectedly, was a light baritone, as rough as an old towel. His attention was diverted off her by the welcome arrival of the lift. Erica hurriedly walked to the studio door opposite the one he had exited, and put her hand on the door knob, conscious of his eyes following her, conscious also of her bare feet. She entered without thinking - escape from him uppermost on her mind, and as she entered, her spider-sense finally quietened. 

The man must have got into the lift and the doors closed behind him.

"Can I help yew?" A strident voice asked. 

Erica looked up at the speaker, a woman with frizzy light red hair, and that pale freckly face that some red-heads have. The studio was a large open space, and she had a table set up with screens, lights and light reflectors surrounding it, and was photographing an object set carefully on it. 

"Um, I think I may have the wrong place…" Erica said.

The woman nodded. "Most people do. They usually want Barrowman across the way. You gonna to get your portrait taken?"

"No. I, um… actually, I'm visiting my cousin who lives upstairs and I got bored eh, and…" she laughed, embarrassed. "I sound like a little girl caught with my hand in the lolly jar!"

"No harm in that." The woman stepped across the room to a plug box and flicked a switch; the spot lights went off. "About time I had a break anyways. I'm Sinead O'Brien. Coffee?"

"Yes, please." 

Why did she say yes to coffee? She hated the stuff. Erica found herself liking this woman, with her keen interested manner and forthright friendliness. She watched as Sinead moved about the studio, digging out an extra mug from somewhere, and going to a little table set by a free-standing stainless steel sink. A jug was plugged in to boil, and a tiny fridge was opened to produce a carton of milk. Already on the table were sugar and instant coffee. Three unlovely unmatching chairs were grouped under a large window, the only one in the studio that did not have any blinds down or curtains drawn across it, and if there had not been a tall office block across the road, or the day cloudy, the sun would have flooded the space in the afternoons. 

Sinead gestured for Erica to take one of the seats while she measured out coffee into the cups with a battered teaspoon. She had been humming a little to herself, but now stopped and pointed at Erica with the spoon.

"Got it!" she said. "New Zealand. Am I right?"

"Yes," said Erica, impressed.

"Thought so. I've been there; Auckland, Rotorua, Wellington, Queenstown. I was there for work, though I did get shown around." Sinead smiled. 

Erica noticed that the corners of her mouth turned down when she smiled. 

"The old tiki-tour, I bet. I'm from Wellington. What were you doing there?"

"It was when your new museum opened - whatsit called again?"

"Te Papa."

"That's it, ridiculous name. I was photographing some of their pieces for them - mainly jewellery and metallic objects. That's what I specialise in - shiny stuff."

"Wow." Erica glanced over at the busy table in the middle of the studio.

"How do you have it?"

"Eh?"

"Your coffee.

"Oh, um, tiny bit of coffee, tiny bit of water, lots of milk…"

The smile appeared again. "You're not a coffee drinker." Sinead tipped the coffee down the sink. "Never mind. Have you got a cousin upstairs for real?"

"Pete? Yeah, I do." Erica blushed. Now that she was reminded about him, she knew she should get back up to the flat - she'd left him alone, and with the front door wide open - for too long.

"Aww, you sweet on him?" Sinead had mistaken the cause of her blush.

"Who, Peter?" 

Erica was taken aback; she cared for him, and in some ways idolised him, but no, she didn't love him. Not in that way. Her mind wondered to another face, another man she had met in New York. With an internal shock, she realised there was someone else who she was keen to get to know better… if only she wasn't Spidey as well…

"No," she continued, "and he's married." She got up.

"What's that got to do with anything." Sinead seemed to accept the fact that Erica had to go.

"Come back real soon, when you've got the time - I've got plenty, and can always talk while working; in fact, I'd welcome it. Radio can be a bitch - you can't answer back to it!"

"I will," promised Erica when she reached the door, then remembering her earlier encounter, "Oh, I meant to ask you earlier; What's Barrowman like?"

"Like? Like? Well, he's like… professional in his manner, pleasant enough I suppose. Why?"

"Oh, I guess I just got freaked out by one of his clients out in the hall."

"Barrowman's O.K. Nothing freaky about him."

Erica nodded, in turn accepting Sinead's judgement. "Thanks Blue. See ya later." 

"Bye now."

…………………………………………………………….

The apartment was looking very clean and tidy, unusually so since Erica's tenancy. She was the first to admit she preferred the 'lived-in' look, and this was very evident in her own house, but she could see where it would be a problem in a small city apartment like Peter's. Even more so with two of them living there. 

When she had come back to the flat, the door to Peter's room was still closed, and apart from the constant muted roar from the traffic out on the street, all was silent. 

So silent, Erica presumed Peter had fallen asleep again. There being nothing else she could do, she'd quietly tidied up, and now, after a making and eating a sandwich for lunch, she was reading. 

Actually, she was browsing through a few of Pete's books; an eclectic collection, mainly non-fiction, reading up on virology and microbiology, searching for information, hoping something would leap out off the page and call attention to itself; 'look at me! I'm the missing link!'. Instead, she got boggled down, trying to make headway through the textual jargon. 'Worse than bush-bashing', she thought, wishing, again, that Peter were awake to help her out. She slapped the cover closed; science was a closed book to her. 

Sighing, Erica replaced the books on the shelves, and stood for a while reading titles on spines - not much chance of coming across a 'Biology for Dummies' book there. She felt the merest tingle of her spider-sense. Without turning, she said, "Hungry? I made you a sammie for lunch, but I guess it's your brekkie too." She turned then, to face Peter. He was looking much better than earlier; colour had returned to his face, and the lines had disappeared. He was also looking contrite. 

"Erica, I'm sorry about…" He didn't get to finish his apology.

"No no, you were perfectly entitled to pack a sad. It was my fault for being nosey, I'm too much of a stickybeak…" She broke off suddenly and giggled, the image of Beaky springing to mind. "Sorry…"

Peter shook his head. "You can be a bit incomprehensible at times… never mind. Where's the lunch you fixed me?"

"On the kitchen bench. Get stuck in."

He gave her another look. "Thanks… I think…"

Erica laughed, feeling much better herself now that Peter was no longer upset at her. "No worries," she said.

When Peter had settled to eat his food, taking the chair away from the door because of his arm, Erica sat on the couch opposite and started asking him questions.

"Tell me to put a sock in it if you want to eat your lunch in peace…" she said.

"No, I'm OK, go ahead," he winced slightly, and Erica kicked herself for her choice of words, reflecting as they did, the words Peter had used that morning. She forged on and told him of the man with the more than passing resemblance to a basset hound. "…you never saw him close up, but I did. This time, I'm going to follow up on it - there must be some reason he set off my spider-sense _twice_."

"What about the tunnel?"

"I'll get you some enlargements done first, I want to _know_ more. And I want to be prepared, I might not be as lucky next time getting in and out unseen…"

"Humph."

Erica sorted through the photos. "I'm being cautious - if I've got to face Dr Octopus, I certainly don't want to do it in that tunnel!"

"Yeah, not the best… you choose the place if possible."

"I will." She paused, squirming. "Uh, Pete, I need your help with something else too." Erica felt her face flame.

"Is it this?" Peter held up the plastic bag that she had forgotten she left on the table. Erica looked over the top of the bag and met Peter's eyes, gave an embarrassed chuckle.

"Yes," she said, in a small voice.

Peter laughed, the first time Erica had heard him relaxed since the mugging. "All right, what's the Web-head been up to now? I don't think he needs a ribbon as an accessory, even if it _is_ the right color."

Chuckling again, this time in relief, Erica recounted her doings with the Untongued.

"…thought I'd set it up with Hudson for tonight. Might as well get it out of the way before tackling Dr.Octopus."

"My, you have been a busy little spider, haven't you?" 

Erica watched Peter digesting the information she had fed him, saw how the light in his eye shifted, became warmer and clearer at the same time. She had guessed right; a puzzle to keep his mind occupied would stop him fretting so much about his physical inactivity.

"A large nose…" he was saying, thinking out loud. 

They both heard a clunk as the lift came to a stop outside the flat. 

"So, where's your 'cousin'?" Erica heard Mary-Jane say as she took her jacket off.

"She's just this moment stepped outside," Peter said, pointing to the window that Erica was clinging to the exterior of, pulling on her gloves and mask, "She didn't want to face you, said she was too scared…"

Spidey heard Mary-Jane's laughter echoing in her ears as she swung away. 'Just you wait, Peter Parker!' she thought with a grin…

**************************************************


	24. Up the Boohai

****

A/N: If anyone spots any glaring errors in the story so far, especially in the setting, please let me know! More of this may be made up than I know :-)

Cheers,

Apteryx

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****

Chapter 24: Up the Boohai.

It was another cool, overcast Spring afternoon, the clouds in fact so low, that the highest towers had their tops shrouded in mist. This suited Spidey just fine - she didn't want to bring undue attention to herself; she was about to visit Sergeant Bill Hudson at the Midtown South Precinct, and didn't think he'd appreciate it either. She launched herself from the edge of a building with a powerful kick, and sailed through the air like a swimmer seeing if they can reach the other side of the pool underwater without coming up for a breath, except instead of needing a breath, she'd need to fling a line of web. Well, she almost reached that building… 

Playing her little game, Spidey travelled across West 35th street until she came to the Precinct building, and from across the street counted floors until she got the level of Hudson's office, then flipped around a lamppost, across to another lamppost and swung up again to land softly against the side of the precinct. She crawled along the wall, peering into each window, looking for Hudson, but having no luck. Perhaps he was on patrol… Then she slapped her palm against her forehead; Duh! She was searching the wrong floor, she should be looking at the floor below; 'Ground' was 'First' floor here. 

Hudson was in. Spidey, about to jump in through his open window, paused; a sudden worry about the comment she overheard struck her. Instead of 'dropping in', she was tempted to stay outside, but thought again how visible she'd be - why didn't Peter base his costume on one of those camouflage spiders? she thought, grumbling. She'd have to risk it - so she silently climbed in and clung to the ceiling unobserved by the sergeant; she watched him deal with his paperwork, admiring his precise handwriting. 

"I'd offer you an extra hand, but my writing's appalling - too spidery," she said.

Hudson finished the word he was writing without skipping a beat, then laid his pen down and leaned back in his chair to look up at Spidey. With his hands behind his head, he contemplated her for a moment before speaking.

"You gave me enough of a hand last night, thank-you, although I doubt Mr. Blomfield feels the same - he had some very uncomplimentary things to say about you."

"It was my bad manners, wasn't it? I wouldn't accept the chair that was offered to me…"

Hudson gave a brief snort of amusement. "You prevented another killing at any rate. How did you know to be there?"

"I've been on the lookout since we talked - I followed this guy uptown, thought he looked the part… Actually, I had an idea I wanted to share with you; there's obviously a gang of these tongueless types, and they're sure to be gunning for me after I've K.O'd two of them. Why not make it easy for them? Get them all in one place, get rid of them all at once, no more cultist killings. And I could find the evidence for you. We could throw a party - you supply a venue and the manpower to clean up after, and I'll supply the appetiser, entree and dessert! Just think of the thrilling conversations we'll have…"

"Hmmm…" Hudson spun round slowly in his chair as he thought. "How would we get them there?" 

"I know it's risky, but let Blomfield's attacker go, with a little billet-doux from me - say you found it on him."

"Won't he suspect a trap?"

"Let's just say I think these guys are a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic…"

"Very well, I can't hold him for much longer anyways. Give me a call when you're ready. Mention the 'billet-doux', so I'll know it's you and not a prank call."

"Would I do prank calls?"

"I hope this works…"

"So do I Sarge, I wouldn't want to throw a party and have nobody come…" Spidey backward somersaulted off the ceiling and extended her legs so she landed on the window sill, and perched there, body low, with toes and fingertips only barely touching the sill.

Hudson laughed, "Show off."

"I have an appreciative audience…" And she fell backwards out of the window.

Spidey sat surrounded by cloud, periodically wiping the eye-pieces of the mask with the back of her hand as they gathered moisture. She had been on her way back to the apartment, when she felt a slight buzzing at the back of her head; tilting her head, she realised it wasn't a warning, it was the tracer she had planted earlier that day. Spidey was in the Diamond district; she had followed the trace to this building on Fifth Avenue, a building containing many small businesses, booths almost, dealing in gem-stones; was Mr. Basset planning a jewel heist? She spotted him leaving now, and leapt down to the neighbouring rooftop, keeping his sagging form in sight, only just - it was a long way down… He turned into 42nd Street and kept walking until he reached Grand Central station, where he entered. 'Oh great,' thought Spidey, 'the subway.' She could tell she was in for a busy night again tonight - added to her list was a check on the diamond stores. First though, she wanted to ask Barrowman about Mr. Basset. 

Spidey poked her head through the window, and could see Peter and MJ sitting together on the couch in quiet conversation. She hated to disturb them, but needed to fetch her clothes. 

"Ahem," she said. 

They both looked up as she entered; Peter with a smile, and Mary-Jane with a slight frown that turned rapidly into a brilliant smile. Erica frowned in turn under her mask; MJ was an actress, how did she really feel? She'd have to talk with her later.

"Don't mind me," she said, walking swiftly towards the bathroom, "I have to use the amenities. You know, I couldn't find a super-hero rest-room anywhere…" She disappeared through the door.

…………………………………….

Peter and Mary-Jane glanced at each other.

"This is getting spooky. How long did you say she's been here for? A week? She seems to have taken on your alter-ego's persona pretty thoroughly." MJ murmured to Peter.

"Hasn't she," he agreed, looking thoughtful. He remembered something Erica had told him. "She… read about me in comic books. She probably knows more than she's letting on, but… she knows Spidey's persona quite well already. I suppose I should be used to this sort of happening, but… it still is weird."

"So she knows about me too?" 

Peter looked startled. "I hadn't thought… I suppose she does."

"Hmmm." Mary-Jane placed a forefinger against Peter's chest. "I think your little Spider is spinning a web for us…" she smiled.

"You don't mind?"

"No, I find it amusing. She's a kind-hearted person, she means well; you were lucky…"

"I guess… no, you're right. It's just…"

"Just what?"

"Nothing." If MJ didn't mind Erica butting into their personal lives, why should he? If it made a difference… Peter shimmied to the edge of the couch and stood, grabbing the bag containing the ribbon off the table, "I want to take a look at this," he said, "Erica's dealing with these guys…"

"…with bad taste," finished Mary-Jane, jumping up from the couch to stand face to face with him. "You can't quit, can you? Even with no powers, and injured, you can't stop… you can't stop being involved…"

Peter tucked the bag into his sling and gripped Mary-Jane's shoulder with his left hand, gazed into her eyes. "No I can't MJ, he's too much of my life - he is me, alter ego, my other self… Even if I'm never Spider-Man again, I will always be involved somehow, you know that. But you should also know that you are the reason I can be myself, Spider-Man or Peter Parker. Just loving you is the reason for me…" 

He let go. Mary-Jane was silent for a space, but Peter could see her eyes shimmering with un-shed tears. She blinked, and one dropped down her cheek; Peter reached up with his hand and caught it with a finger.

"I know…" she said at last. "I… I'd hoped it would be different now, that's all."

"Oh, MJ…" Pete gathered her in to a fierce one-armed hug, and they clung to each other as if in mourning. Peter felt his heart-beat thump in his chest, and was sure that Mary-Jane could hear it too. He whispered into her hair, "I love you, never forget that…"

MJ released herself from the embrace and gave Peter a watery smile. "What now, Tiger? How does the Spider-Man support team go to work?"

Peter smiled in grateful understanding at Mary-Jane; he knew how hard this was for her… 

"I want to have a go at analysing this ribbon. Erica seemed to think it was saturated with a chemical, and I want to find out what, and for what purpose. I'll need help though…" Peter pulled the baggie out of his sling and held it in front of her. "For a start, I need someone to unzip the bag!"

Frustrated, Peter gritted his teeth; he had been working on the ribbon for a couple of hours with Mary-Jane's help, and had not gotten very far - the most he could tell was that some amino acids were used; he needed equipment and a few different chemical reactors he didn't have, if he was to get any further, but with his useless arm… He curled his hand into a fist around the ribbon, and slammed it onto the desk in front of him. The wood splintered and broke, various tools and containers jumped, a rack of test tubes fell over and one of them shattered, mixing glass in with the puddle of spilled fluids.

"Peter!" exclaimed Mary-Jane in shock; she had been sitting on his bed watching his progress when she couldn't help. "What's happened? Ha- have you got your powers back?"

Peter sat back, reeling from shock himself; he hadn't felt any change. If he'd got his powers back suddenly like that, then what had happened to Erica? He stood up slowly, surveying the damage and turned to Mary-Jane.

"I… I don't know," he said. He carefully put the ribbon down on the other side of the desk that was still intact, and moved over to a wall. "I guess I'd better find out…" Not wanting to jar his arm, he didn't leap for the wall, but instead placed his hand and one foot against it to try climbing; nothing, not even the slightest adhesion. 

"Nope, no Spider-powers, unless I've somehow regained the strength only." He went to lift the desk, managed only to tilt it as one corner moved, certainly nothing beyond normal human strength. "I don't understand it…"

Mary-Jane came up next to him, holding his good arm as she stood close. "What was different? Was it… emotionally triggered?"

Peter stood, head bowed, letting all the frustrations of the past week build up within him. He suddenly banged his fist down on the desk again. "Argh!" All that he achieved was a sore hand.

He smiled ruefully at MJ, as he flapped his hand in the air. 

"Not that either," he said. His eyes slid over his desk, and came to rest on the length of red ribbon. Peter picked it up, bunched it in his fist; he glanced at MJ as he hesitated, then brought his fist down on the desk, hard. The wood cracked underneath his hand, broke, creating more chaos on the desk top. He held up his hand, one end of the ribbon dangling, like a stream of blood…

"It's the ribbon…" he said, "that's how the Untongued get their incredible strength - drugs."

Mary-Jane shuddered slightly. "I don't like it," she stated.

"Quite frankly, neither do I." He absently began tidying his desk, cleaning the mess, at the same time thinking furiously. 

"Just before you arrived," he said, "I was thinking about a description Erica gave me on one of those men. Last time I visited the chem store, Dean was telling me - you remember Dean? - he was telling me about a customer with a prominent nose who communicated solely by PDA, and bought an interesting mix of chemicals…"

"The same one?"

"Too much of a coincidence for it not to be. I need to…"

He was interrupted by a figure suddenly dropping swiftly down in front of them. 

"What's that? Speaking of coincidences…" Erica whipped off her mask and stood there grinning widely.

Continuing as before, Peter said, "…I need to get a list from Dean of the chemicals he bought - if I can work out the formula used, I might also be able to work out an antidote." He paused, waiting for a reaction from Erica.

He wasn't disappointed.

"Antidote? You mean you figured out what the chemical does?"

Peter silently pointed to the desk behind her. 

Her eyes widened as she took in the damage. "Holy!" she whispered.

"I'm going to the chemical store to…"

"No you're not!"

"Like hell you are!" 

Two voices joined in to oppose his plan. Peter sighed; he didn't think he'd be able to get away with it, but he had to try. Mary-Jane gripped his arm tighter.

"Listen to me," she said. "You are staying right here. Erica and I will go. I've met Dean a few times, I'm sure he'll remember me." 

Peter was sure too - MJ had had a lot of fun flirting with the older man.

"That's right, we'll get the information; you sit tight. Here, this'll keep you busy until we get back…" Erica pulled a slim package from the knapsack at her feet, and handed it to Peter. He turned it over, then handed it back.

"You'll have to open it for me," he said.

Erica impatiently ripped the paper off to reveal a photo wallet of enlargements and a small magnifying glass. She walked into the lounge and placed them on the table, Peter and Mary-Jane following. "The photos of the notes from the tunnel lab - you can decipher them until we get back. Golly, I'm thirsty; a glass of water, then I'll change and we'll be off…"

The images on the TV screen flickered from one scene to another with a rapidity that bordered on a strobe effect. Giving his eyes a rest from closely examining photographic handwriting taken with a hand-held camera by an amateur, Peter decided he TV was not much better. He had been making headway with the notes, and was becoming increasingly appalled at what he was reading. There was a mutated virus being produced at that laboratory, similar to the East Nile; the results of the testing on live subjects were written up, but that was not the most bad thing; not by any means. It seemed as if the virus acted as a carrier for a drug, a powerful undetectable drug that affected the nervous system in such a way that its victims fell into a coma, which was then blamed on the virus. So though the virus was relatively harmless, much time and money could be wasted trying to discover a epidemiological cure to it. Long term effects of the drug on the patient were not known, but the longest test case there were notes for, had the coma victim progressively losing function, and even when the antidote to the drug was given, that function was not recoverable. 

Peter rubbed his hand over his forehead; he was developing quite a headache. He needed some fresh air - well, as fresh as you can get in Manhattan - if he could convince MJ and Erica to let him out. He felt fine. Peter moved his right arm up within it's sling and let out a hiss of breath as pain shot through it. OK, so perhaps it wasn't fine, but if he kept that arm immobilised, no reason why the rest of him couldn't leave.

He looked down again at the enlargements; he now knew partly what Ock was doing, but the why still eluded him. Why those particular coma victims at the Moroney clinic? Peter searched around for, and found, Erica's notes on the subject and re-read them. Possibly nobody else would think of connecting the victims in any way; he was sure he could discount the homeless man - he was probably one of the early test cases - but a Senator, a realtor and a city official or two? He would have to get background checks on them somehow.

There was the sound of laughter outside the front door, then the two women entered, flushed with their hilarity and carrying a couple of large paper bags. Erica called out as she took them into the kitchenette, "We got Chinese takeaways for dinner - thought we'd have an early one." 

While Erica was busy, MJ came over to Peter, placed her hand on his shoulder. "You look a little pale, hon," she said. "Are you sure you haven't been overdoing it today?"

He denied it. Grimly, he told Mary-Jane and Erica all that he had found out from the notes. Their mood immediately dampened.

"But why?" asked Mary-Jane, "Why?"

There was silence. Erica wheeled in the chair from the bedroom. "C'mon, get your laughing gear around that," she said, laying the food out on the table. "It's time we ate. Perhaps we can figure out what to do next over dinner."

Peter wasn't all that hungry. He picked at his food, and watched, secretly amused as Erica wolfed down her huge pile of food while in contrast, MJ ate slowly and carefully.

"How did you get on with Dean?" Peter asked after a while.

With a flourish, MJ pulled a printout from her pocket and handed it to Pete. He scanned the list of chemicals. "Oh now, that's interesting…" he mumbled to himself, "I wonder…" He turned the paper over and started to write, awkwardly, with his left hand. He didn't see Erica and Mary-Jane look at each other and smile, almost indulgently. This was something he was good at; something he wished he was able to do as a career if Spider-Man was out of the picture, heck, even if he were still around. His pencil flew over the paper as fast he could write, but it was much slower than the speed at which chemical equations and formulae formed inside his head. He reached out for more paper - smoothed down a paper bag and started scribbling on that too. Finally he stopped. He thought he had it, but… he didn't have the equipment or the ingredients to test it out. He did however, know someone who did…

"Erica, I want you to visit Dr. Connors tonight. Ask him a favor. I'll give you my workings; he should be able to make up an antidote from them."

"Hang on a minute mate! He'd also figure out pretty quickly that I'm not you; I mean, I hardly know one end of a bunsen burner from the other, and he knows that Spidey is a science whiz and all."

"You've got a point there." Peter's brow furrowed, then he sighed and looked at Mary-Jane. "MJ?" he said. 

Erica, seeing Mary-Jane's face close down, hurriedly said "I don't need any antidote - I can handle these guys without…"

"How many of them are there again?"

"Three or four."

"Hmmm. Well you could, but I dunno, I'd rather you and the police had it as a back-up." Peter watched Erica open her mouth to protest, but before she could say anything, MJ spoke.

"It's OK, he can go, I will too."

Peter smiled at MJ. She knew him pretty well… He looked across at Erica.

"Can you drop in on us later? We may have it ready for you."

"Yeah, all right. I need to ask him again about Ock anyway. You going to give him a ring now?"

"OK, I'll call."

"Right, I'll be off then." They watched as Erica stripped out of her clothes to reveal the Spider-Man costume underneath and began strapping on the web-shooters. 

"Where are you going?" asked Mary-Jane, not having heard the full details of her plan of action.

A fully suited Erica turned opaque eyes to face her.

"Up the boohai shooting pukakas with a long-handled shovel" she said, laughing, and leapt out the window.

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	25. Wannabes

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A/N: A slightly shorter chapter, so that the next one is uninterrupted action!

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Chapter 25: Wannabes

The taxi drove off. Peter watched it go, then turned to the Stanford Building in front of them. Curt Connors had suggested they meet there; they were a little late, given the traffic, but Mary-Jane had been against him taking the subway with his injury. It was still very early evening, and it would be light for a few hours yet. Peter saw a figure approach the glass doors of the entrance lobby and wave. "Come on," he said to Mary-Jane, "There's Curt."

"Well, well," said Curt, laughing when he caught a closer look at Peter, "That's carrying adulation a bit too far!"

Peter chuckled. "Good to see you too. Do you remember Mary-Jane?"

Chatting easily, Dr. Connors led them up to is lab. "Now," he said, ushering them in, "What have you got for me?" Peter thought he would have been rubbing his hands together if he had had both.

They started getting involved in their chemical puzzle. After a while, Peter looked up and noticed Mary-Jane in her chair looking extremely bored. She looked him in the eye.

"Pete, can you make me a promise that you'll keep?"

"Uh, sure MJ." Peter was immediately on the defensive - it wasn't his fault that he hadn't been able to keep his promises in the past…

"I'm going to do a couple of things while I'm here in New York - you promise you'll stay here with Dr Connors until I return? I won't be long." She stood up, her long hair swinging down the back of her camel coat. 

"I'll see you later Curt. I know you'll take good care of Peter." She gave him a terrific smile, then left.

"Hoo boy, your wife does that too?" Connors said consolingly, catching Peter's sheepish grin, then changing the subject, "Well now, what do you think of this isotope…"

An insistent knocking brought itself to the attention of Peter. He and Curt Connors were fine-tuning the antidote to neutralise the affects of the Untongued's drug. Curt was just as involved as he in the process and hadn't heard the sound either. Peter looked sideways and saw Spidey at the dark window. He acted surprised. 

"Uh, Curt? I think you've got a visitor…"

Connors looked up. "It's Spider-Man! I remember, there's something he wanted to know…" He went over and opened the window.

"Thanks," said Spidey, entering, "I can wait while you finish up." Then as if realising who Connor's assistant was, "Parker! At least you don't have your camera with you this time." 

Peter smiled at the good-natured ribbing.

"You two know each other?" asked Connors, as he poured a small amount of the antidote into a test-tube containing the strength formula and swirled it around. 

"Yeah. Hi Spidey." Peter was conscious of her eyes on them as they finished testing. The liquid in the tube turned purple as Connors added a few drops of a solution to it. "There," he said, satisfied, "All done."

"I can see you've neutralised something there," commented Spidey, trying to sound scientifically knowledgeable. 

Peter smothered a chuckle. 

"Any further news for me?" she continued, "It's OK, Parker can stay, he's…" She coughed suddenly.

Peter looked hard at Spidey, but it was hard to tell what she was thinking behind that mask. Connors didn't notice anything amiss though.

"It appears as if I was mistaken in one of my pieces of information last time I spoke to you; I thought it would be a while until Dr. Octavius gained a Chair. I've since learned his application has been fast-tracked - he will be appointed at the end of the week, a Chair in Neurobiology. And he intends to hold a press conference to coincide with his appointment."

"The 'new discovery' he's been claiming?"

"I presume so." 

"When's the conference?"

"Thursday afternoon, here at ESU."

Spidey's head turned to face Peter. This time, he could tell _exactly_ what she was thinking. He gave a minute shake of his head. Spidey turned back to Dr Connors.

"I'll have to be there then to find out more. Thanks for the information Doc…"

"Not a problem at all. I… ah, see Peter wants a private word with you, so I'll leave you for a few minutes. I've got something on the boil…"

Peter almost blushed himself - his body language must have been fairly obvious.

"Uh, thanks Curt."

Dr Connors smiled at him "I won't tell Mary-Jane if you don't," he said with a wink as he shut the door behind him.

They listened to his footsteps recede. Spidey dropped down from the wall she had been sticking to, and walked over to the bench the formulae were on. "This is it?" she asked, tapping the side of a beaker.

"Yes." Peter decanted some through a small funnel into a syringe. "Quickly, give me a couple of web cartridges - I'll inject this solution into them." 

While he was doing this, he asked her "Why did you cough before?"

"I, er, I was about to say something particularly lame, even for Spider-Man, but I caught myself just in time, specially with Connors here too..."

"Well?"

In a small voice, she said, "I was going to say 'Parker can stay, he's 'armless'."

"Aw no!" Peter chuckled as he searched around Dr Connor's desk and found a small bottle of white-out, which he used to paint marks on the cartridges. "So you don't get them mixed up."

Spidey replaced them into the belt. "I've got a few hours before I meet with these larrikins, eh."

"Are you nervous?"

"No… not yet…" Peter could sense she was smiling under her mask. "I'm more worried about Doc Ock - If he has that press conference on Thursday, it doesn't give us much time to prepare. That'd be the perfect chance to confront him… expose him for the academic fraud he is… if only we knew!"

"No, there'll be too many people around if it came to a fight - which knowing Ocky… We'll have to bring this to a head before then."

"Eek, an even tighter time-frame. OK, I hope we don't suck the kumara on this one." She headed to the window. "I'll see you later. Say bye to Connors for me. Cheerio!"

Peter watched as she climbed out, and sighed. He started cleaning up as he waited for Dr. Connors to return. Erica was still so gung-ho as Spidey, but at the same time, she was a better detective than he was when he started out, rushing headlong into situations relying totally on his spider-powers and his wits to get him out. He felt somewhat depressed now that he had finished the formula for the antidote; he had only a few more pages of the tunnel lab notes to decipher, and then what? He'd be a useless lump again. There was no real point in MJ sticking around; she'd just be twiddling her thumbs too, like tonight. 

In a thoroughly sour mood now, Peter looked for two containers; one to put the rest of the antidote in, and the other for the strength formula they had made up to begin with, so he could take them home, with the vague idea they may be useful to the police…

He heard voices; Connors and Mary-Jane. Peter couldn't wait to leave now, although he didn't fancy going back to the apartment just yet either. Maybe he could convince MJ to catch a movie with him - have an old-fashioned date together…

…………………………………………………….

"Help! Hellppp!" The screams reached Spidey as she was slowly swinging around, killing time before meeting with the Untongued. She had already inspected the traditional abandoned warehouse that Hudson had supplied for the venue, and was almost certain the Untongued would do the same, even stash some weapons there. 

"Help!"

Spidey landed on a ledge and peered over into a dark alley. A woman, man and two small children, very scared, were holed up in a corner against a brick wall, and were being terrorised by two teens dressed in long black overcoats. Spidey let herself silently down on a web-line, hanging upside down out of view of the two to get a better look. 'Oh, great,' she thought, 'Matrix wannabes.' The teens were all in black, leather everywhere, and wearing black shades. One had a samurai sword, a katana, and was waving it around in front of him in figure-of-eights; the other was holding a small dark object that Spidey couldn't quite make out. The family appeared to be tourists that had wondered away from the well-populated streets and had got lost. It was the woman screaming - she seemed more scared of the small object than she did the sword flashing in front of her. 'Or Blade wannabes - not that it makes much difference.' Whatever, it was time to intervene.

'Thwip!' A thin strand of webbing stuck to the sword and whipped it out of the teen's hands and sent it clattering along the side of the brick building. The guy hardly had time to gape in astonishment, when a taunting voice rang out behind him.

"Tricky little buggers, aren't they? Could give you a real nasty cut if you're not careful."

The teens whirled around, coat flaps flying. Spidey had time to see the family react like stunned mullets to her sudden appearance before noticing what the second, shorter, blond teen held dangling from his hand.

"What's that, a rat?" she asked in disbelief. "What are you gonna do with it; shoot me?"

By now, they had recovered from their surprise. The dead rat was swung and thrown at Spidey, who with an effortless twist, avoided it. "Ooo, that was real scary…"

At once, both put their hands inside their coats, under which was glimpsed a huge arsenal of weaponry; knives, numchakas, shurikens, guns. 

"Oh Man," Spidey laughed, "What else you got under there, the Seventh Regiment Armory?" She leapt and twisted in the air, her spider-sense giving her enough warning as a dozen shuriken whizzed past. Crouching low, she reached out with an arm and caught an inexpertly thrown bolas, whirled it fast and let it go back to it's originator, catching him about the legs and felling him. "Hey Ratty, if you had another brain, you could start a rock garden."

The taller teen sneered. "You've taken out the novice; let's see how you fare against a Master of the Dragon-Fire!"

"Oh, please!" Spidey rolled her eyes under her mask as she stood up - she didn't think the teen had any powers, and guessed he had only limited martial arts training; he must have seen one too many movies or cartoons. She moved slowly back in the alley, hoping to lead him away from the cowering family; as she had hoped, he paced forward to keep a close distance between them. 

He pulled out a flame thrower and with it at it's highest setting, aimed it towards Spidey. Only she wasn't there. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and whirled about, flame and all, to find… nobody. Her voice came from above him.

"Hey, Hotshot, flambé spider's not on the menu today."

The flame veered up, but again Spidey had vanished. 

"Where are you?" the youngster screamed, plainly irritated and goaded by Spidey's antics. "I'll fry you!"

"Tut tut, don't get your tukus in a twist. I'm right here." Her voice was behind him again. He turned suddenly, but his flame met only brick.

"Missed me!"

Enraged, the teen started careering about in circles, aiming everywhere with the blow torch. The light from the flame cast eerie shadows on the walls, which in turn became targets for the flame. Abruptly, the fire flared and went out as the propane tank emptied, leaving the alley in darker blackness. One of the young children could be heard whimpering in the background, with the mother making frantic 'shushing' sounds to it. 

The teen she'd downed earlier had untangled his legs, and had now limped up to the side of his mate. They looked at each other briefly and both pulled out guns from under their coats, aiming them at Spidey; her spider-sense buzzed a strong warning. Immediately she leapt back and against the side of a large rubbish skip nearby. 

"Guns. I hate guns." Spidey muttered. In such close quarters, she didn't have much of an advantage against them, even with her spider-speed, she didn't want to risk the family getting hurt either. 

"Hands up, Bug," growled Ratty. 

"We're gonna squash ya this time," said the other. 

"Gee, that must be the second original thought you've had." Spidey slowly raised her hands - they touched the top edge of the skip. This gave her an idea. She waited until the two teens relaxed slightly at her seeming acquiescence, then gripped the edge of the bin and using her incredible strength and speed, flipped it over her head so that the skip and it's contents, up-ended over the two, trapping them. 

Muffled yells of outrage started up, and one of them fired his gun; the amount of rubbish and the thickness of the skip's side meant that the bullet didn't travel far.

"Hey! Let us out of this dumpster!"

Spidey banged the side of the skip with her fist, "Can it, you guys," then ignored them, and turned her attention instead to the huddled family.

"It's OK, they're just trash," she said. "They won't be troubling you any more. Are you all right?"

The father stood up straight, hugging his elder son who couldn't be more than five, in front of him.

"Wh-who are you?" he asked, eyes wide at the scene he had witnessed. Surely no human was that fast…

"Who am I? Just your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man!"

The mother still crouched by the wall, cradling her toddler, but the young boy piped up, fear already forgotten. "I've heard of you!" he said. "You're famous. How do you see out of those eyes?"

"Sam, be quiet!" shushed the mother, standing up.

Spidey laughed, "No, he's cool. Well Sam," she said, crouching down to his level, "These are my special spider eyes; I can see out, but you can't see in."

He nodded, accepting, and placed a hand on her arm, peering into her eye-pieces to test her statement. Suddenly, he darted forward, gave her a quick hug, and went back to his dad. Taken aback, Spidey stood up. 

Dad held out his hand to shake her's. "Thanks, Mate," he said, "You saved us all there. One thing though, how did you pick us as New Zealanders?"

"Huh?" Spidey grew puzzled - she had realised this as they spoke, but how did he know?

"Don't get your tukus in a twist - only a Kiwi would say that…"

Spidey was glad she was masked as she felt the heat rising in her face. "I'm a bit of a bullshit artist, eh," she said, putting on an extreme 'New Zild' accent. Then, trying to sound as much like Peter as she could, continued "I've a friend who's a Kiwi. Are you OK for getting back to your hotel?"

"No worries."

"I'll be slinging my web then. See ya 'round Sam." She shot off a line, and with a wave she was gone.

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	26. Party Time!

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A/N: Spidey gets more than she bargained for… :)

Thanks ShadowShock and Lesera for your reviews - as long as I'm not writing into a void, I'm happy! I'm also glad to know it reads well. Writing this seems so self-indulgent at times, 'cos I'm enjoying it too!!

Cheers,

Apteryx

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Chapter 26: Party Time!

By now it was very dark; the moon had set and there were still a few hours before the first glimmer of dawn showed in the east. Shadows were converging on a building, large and low, surrounding then entering it. Two of these shadows used grappling hooks and rope to scale the walls to the roof, were they checked the area thoroughly. Satisfied, the let themselves down again, and also entered the building in the wake of their comrades.

Not long after, a different shadow came, this time from above, and landed lightly on the roof without the need for hooks and ropes. Spidey gave herself a little pep talk as she travelled along the roof-top to the bank of clerestory windows, pausing there to check that she had the right cartridges loaded into her web-shooters before taking a squiz through the glass. 'There's three of them,' she thought, spying their forms in the faint light cast by one of their torches, 'Where's the other one? Oh well, I'll worry about him later. Time for the host to join the party!' Silently, she removed the metal-edged window out of its frame, and dropped the twenty metres down to the floor. 

Instantly she was on her feet again, standing in front of the three, warily waiting for her spider-sense to buzz in warning, but they made no move, only stood there, silent. 'Well I guess talking to them won't do any harm,' she thought, 'it's not like they're going to talk back though - I'll have to do that too.'

" 'How do you do, Mr Spider-Man?' Fine thanks, _so_ glad you could make it. 'No trouble at all, our pleasure.' I'd like a conversation with you if I may. 'Certainly.' Howzabout you start - what's the deal with the tongues?" Spidey carried on both sides of the exchange, changing her voice for the other part.

One of the figures moved forward slightly into the light. It was old Beak Nose. His eyes glistened in the shadow cast upwards by his large nose, as with deliberation, he raised his arm; hand to mouth, hand to chest, in that odd salute Spidey had witnessed before. The other two shadows, one small in stature, moved, copying the salutations. It was a signal. 

Suddenly, all three rushed Spidey; her sixth sense flared and she instinctively somersaulted high above their heads and landed in a crouch behind them.

"Hey, that was rude! Keep a civil tongue in your head, why don'tcha!" Immediately her sense flared again, she flipped and bounced off her hands, figuring that it was the final member of the quartet, but received a shock when she became upright and saw not one, but _six_ more of the untongued coming out of the shadows for her. 'Oh, poo.'

So far, not one blow had been exchanged, but she knew that was going to change very shortly, with the nine Untongued malevolently converging on her. The darkness would work in her favour at least. She'd have to think fast as well as move fast… 

Spidey waited until the two nearest reached her, then swiftly leap-frogged over them, fists connecting hard with their heads as she did so. They dropped to the ground, out for the count. 

"Sconed! Piece of piss." Seven left, but openings like that would be harder to get. They were surrounding her now, with a couple of them outside the inclosing circle, ready for her. With a sigh, she bounded out of the circle, but not before one of them managed to land a savage blow to her ribs. 

She felt a surge of pain which immediately died down, only to return each time she moved. 'The bastard must've broken a rib,' she thought, as she gritted her teeth and ignored the pain; the adrenaline helped. Spidey quickly grabbed him from behind and swung him around to sweep another two off their feet; she threw her captive into the chest of another who was running up to help. She then bounced amongst them as they attempted to regain their feet, throwing punches at them to keep them off-balance and perhaps keep them down. 

"Whassa matter? Have I got too much Weetbix for you?" she quipped, keeping her tone as light as she could.

She felt a tingle, and neatly flipped back, to avoid Mouse who had tripped over a jagged piece of metal protruding from the floor in the darkness. As she landed, she had to twist to avoid the same bit of metal - the tingle grew more urgent, but slightly unbalanced herself, she couldn't dodge the lowered head of one of her assailants, butting her in the stomach. 

"Ooffh!" Spidey exclaimed, as she doubled over winded and in pain from her rib, and flew backwards, with Midge's arms now wrapped around her, trapping her arms to her sides. Her head hit the concrete floor, and for a few seconds the interior of the warehouse became even blacker.

Midge on top of her was tightening his grip; Spidey found it hard to breathe, the pain from her broken rib was intense, and she could feel the rest of her ribs bending inwards with the pressure exerted on them; her head started to spin. 'I've got to do something fast…' 

She could hear soft scrunching of footsteps as the two remaining Untongued approached them, and twisting her head, saw the beams from their torches shine in her eyes, picking out the silent figure of their associate holding Spider-Man pinned and helpless.

With a small moan, Spidey suddenly went completely limp; Midge gave her inert form a small shake, then after a pause, let her body slump onto the grimy floor as he stood up. He reached into a pocket and withdrew a small black knife, while Beaky and another came and stood over Spidey as well. 

Slowly, with the knife held out in front of him, Midge knelt down, hand hovering over Spidey's chest, directly in the centre of the spider insignia. The point of the dark blade scarcely touched the fabric, then sliced it, gradually and deliberately piercing the flesh beneath. A round blob of blood pooled up around the edge of the knife, and dribbled in small rivulets along Spidey's front like legs, looking as if a small, bizarre, blood-red spider had landed on her chest. 

Midge grunted, a small sound of satisfaction as he sat back onto his heels, lifting the knife away and brandishing it for the men standing over them to see. Their attention was totally on the knife Midge was holding, with their beams of light glinting off the fresh blood at the tip of the blade. They didn't notice, in the half-darkness, Spidey's fingers start to curl; specifically, her two middle fingers…

With an abruptness and speed that startled them all, Spidey rolled away and twisted up into a crouch, arms out and a spray of webbing aimed at the three closely grouped figures. "Ha! I pulled a Hollywood!" taunted Spidey. She had given herself a wee bit of time to recuperate, to clear her head and let her ribs settle down; the small flesh wound was minor. 

The two standing took a while to recover their wits, but by the time they did it was too late, the webbing had had it's effect; the antidote had worked and they were cocooned and helpless. Midge, however, had managed to escape; being closer to the ground, he only had a small amount of the webbing reach him, and was able to tear it off himself before he was disabled. He was unaware of the effect of the webbing on the strength of his colleagues. 'That's one advantage of them being speechless - they can't warn each other.' Spidey thought. But now, she still had Midge to deal with - and he was uninjured. Getting him angry worked last time…

Spidey hopped towards the pool of light made by the discarded torches of the two webbed-up villains. She snatched one up and shone it directly into Midge's face, standing an arm's length away from him. 

"You haven't grown since the last time we met - didn't the growth hormones work?" 

Midge took a roundhouse slug at her; she gave a little jump back. Staying in theoretical reach of him, but never allowing his blows to touch, Spidey zoomed and capered about like a demented fire-fly, mocking and scoffing the while; "Did ya have a fight with a lawn-mower? I've heard of flymo toe, but flymo tongue is ridiculous… Mind you, it sure cut you down to size." She kept moving while waiting for an opening. "You don't just telegraph punches, you send them by Morse code…" 

Spidey could see her strategy working - Midge was all but foaming at the mouth in impotent rage; she could also hear movement from the group she had clobbered earlier. She paused, as if in thought, "…or is it a shortened form of semaphore?" Midge took this opportunity to charge her, which was exactly what she wanted. When he was virtually onto her, she crouched spider-fashion with her body almost level with the ground, dropped the torch, then seized his feet, sprung up and flipped him heavily to the concrete floor, as if she were a basket-baller slam-dunking a ball in the net. Just for good measure, she gave his recumbent form a kick in the chest before webbing him up securely. "That's for sticking me with your knife - do you have any idea how long it takes me to sew up tears in this costume? Shesh!"

Spidey stood there breathing hard for a moment; she could feel a scraping in her chest every time she moved her torso, or took a deep breath, but she knew she wasn't finished yet… Her spider-sense gave a twinge, reminding her of the other Untongued now on their feet again. She turned slowly, her white eye-pieces seeming to glow in the faint light, and advanced toward them.

"OK, you pernicious race of odious vermin, come 'n get me… if you can." 

Advancing still, into the blackness, she noticed them glance at one another, unsure. It seemed as if they were willing to give up, if given that choice individually, but as a team, as part of a greater cause, they chose to continue their fight. One, very tall and dark, responded by laying into her immediately, but his flailing arms met with no resistance; Spidey was already gone. 

"Up here. If you can reach." Nearly impossible to make out, apart from the eyes, was a figure clinging lightly half-way up the wall ten metres away. She waited as the three men ran towards her, then sprung unexpectedly onto the shoulders of the tall guy. Before he could react and reach for her, she had already pounded him on the head, hard enough to hear a crunch as vertebrae compressed. She vaulted off him as he fell, reached out for an iron pole, guided by her spider-sense, and swung around it, doubling back with legs outstretched to slam into the back of one of the remaining two men still standing. Springing clear, she twisted, seized the other by the arm as he took a swing at her, and threw him against the wall. He was older and slower and slightly more thick-set then most of the Untongued, but he was also tougher - he slumped for a moment, then heaved himself up and went for Spidey again.

"You're a wee battler," she began, as she ducked under a kick, then leapt up to avoid a back-handed blow, "a tenacious bastard, but you're slowing down a bit now. Don'tcha think?" She landed and tilted her head, considering. He feinted with one hand, then uppercut with the other, hoping to catch Spidey off-guard, but her preternatural reflexes meant she dodged easily. 

"See? I told ya," she said, and with a quickness that blurred the senses, she returned two rapid punches of her own, one after the other, delivered to his solar plexus. She stepped back, making room for the pole-axed man to fall forward and added a clout with the side of her hand to the back of his neck as he did so. 

Standing, surveying the nine Untongued, now all contained in webbing and saturated with the antidote to their strength drug, Spidey silently thanked Peter for his insistence on her taking the antidote with her. As Spider-Man, _he_ may not have needed to use it, but this was her toughest fight yet, as well as being unexpected. 

Climbing up the wall, and along under one of the over-hanging beams that ran beside the narrow windows, Spidey retrieved her camera, and a small webbed package she had placed there earlier. Before arriving at the warehouse for her rendezvous with the Untongued, she had paid another visit to Beak Nose's apartment, figuring that he would already be on his way, and his PDA and other information about the operations of the Untongued would be there; they seemed to go into action with no other items on them other than the small black knives. It didn't take her long at all to find them, all neatly filed, but she didn't have time to read them through; just to collect them together.

Now, she took the package and climbed up through the clerestory window she had entered. She stood at the edge of the roof and facing the street, activated the spider-signal so it brightly illuminated the walls of the surrounding structures. She changed over web-cartridges as she waited, and shortly after heard a high-pitched whistle. Releasing a web-line she swooped down into the street below, and alighted on the pavement, just as Sargent Hudson and another cop got to the spot. 

Hudson's eyes widened at the sight of her - the front of her chest was covered with blood, although the wound had now almost stopped bleeding; Spidey also had a hand clutching at her opposite side, and had rather laboured breathing.

"What happened to you!?" exclaimed Hudson.

"They couldn't get to my tongue, heh, so they tried to cut my heart out instead - I'm sure you can understand that…"

Shaking his head in bemusement, Hudson asked, "Do you need any medical attention?"

"Nah, a Band-Aid will do. Here, I've got this package for you - and nine more inside…"

"Nine!?" Hudson looked at Spidey in wonderment. "How did you ever get out of there alive, man? You should have called us earlier." 

Hudson's partner's jaw dropped, and she said quietly, "God…"

He turned and introduced her to Spidey. "This is Detective Mila Kysela - she was first on the scene at the CNN reporter's homicide... it was her sister, Zelenka."

"Hi," she said, shyly.

"Hey, that would've been tough…" Spidey responded sympathetically. Then, changing her tone, "C'mon inside. I'm afraid you missed all the party games, but there are some leftovers for you to enjoy…" She turned and bounded to the small door set in the large loading bay door, flung it open and hopped in. 

Hudson murmured into his RT, and almost immediately, a couple of police vans appeared around a corner and drew up to the loading bay. Several police jumped out and followed Spidey inside. Out of his pocket, Hudson pulled out a fuse, and fitted it back into the box inside the door; the lights blinked on. 

Spidey was crouching by the bundles on the floor. She was talking to the captive cult members. "…known it was so dingy, I would have held it someplace else…" she turned slightly as the policemen approached, closely followed by Hudson and Kysela. "Here are the folks to take you home; don't forget your party bags!" Several sets of eyes glared at her.

Hudson stifled a chuckle.

"All yours," said Spidey to him, jumping up, "Watch this one though," she nudged Beaky with her foot. "His tongue's so sharp, he'll cut his own throat. I hate to be a party pooper but… I'm pooped!" She shot out a strand of web to the ceiling and swung up to the small windows and out.

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	27. Little Things

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A/N: Thanks ShadowShock. you were right - I had made a mistake! I had the word mixed up with 'celestial' for some reason… it's really 'clerestory'. :) 

OK, on we go…

Cheers,

Apteryx

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Chapter 27: Little Things

"Aergh." Erica rolled over on the couch and groaned as her side made contact with the cushions. She became conscious of the sounds of someone busy in the kitchen, she blinked and opened her eyes; it was full daylight. She remembered literally crawling in during the early hours of the morning, but that was about it. Erica pushed the blanket down as she carefully sat up, and was disconcerted to see she was still in costume, apart from the boots, gloves and mask.

"Aw, jeez…" she muttered when she saw the state of her front. She couldn't believe she hadn't even cleaned herself up and seen to the cut. That fight must have taken more out of her than she expected; and she possibly had an even tougher one coming up, and with a broken rib, no less… A voice cut in on her introspection. 

"Oh great, two walking wounded. What a pair you make!"

Erica looked up to see Mary-Jane standing over her, a spatula in one hand. She at least looked as if she'd had a good night, she looked so fresh, wearing a simple shift dress in a pale green and ivory slides on her feet; a contrast to Erica's dirty, bloody, smelly self. 

"I-it's n-nothing," she stammered, embarrassed, cheeks pink.

"That's what Peter always said too." MJ sighed, and sat down next to Erica on the couch. Erica gave her a sidelong glance - thinking MJ sounded sad, but she only looked thoughtful.

"But?"

"Well most of the time he was right; it was nothing. But I still worried he would…will… get hurt bad, or… killed."

"Yeah, that's understandable, though I wonder… is it that he'll get hurt, or the _manner_ of his getting hurt? I mean, well… he could be seriously into an extreme sport, or horse-riding or something, and face risks of injury that way. I even heard of a guy who used to skate along the _road_ on Fifth Avenue on his way to work - dodging vehicles the whole time… Lord, I don't know if I'm putting this right, but… what if he had a hobby that took up heaps of his time and was really risky, but it wasn't being Spider-Man? Would that be different?"

Mary-Jane was absolutely stock-still; Erica hoped she hadn't said the wrong thing and offended her, but it _was_ something she had always wondered about their relationship, and she was curious. 

"Yes." Although her reply was blunt and definite, MJ still didn't sound sure. She got up with an apologetic smile. "I've got to see to breakfast, I don't want it to burn."

"Uh, right… I'll have a shower once Pete's up."

Erica slowly stripped out of the Spidey costume and into the shirt that was her night-wear. The gash on her chest was closed and beginning to heal already; a broken rib she knew from her time on the sailing ship, would usually take a couple of weeks before normal activities could resume. It would be different for her, but could she heal in just two days?

Sitting at the table, she ate the breakfast Mary-Jane supplied, hungry. "How long d…" she began, but broke off when Peter padded into the living area, attention bent on kitchen, food and Mary-Jane. He took the cup of coffee she offered and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek in exchange, sniffing appreciatively at MJ's perfume and her cooking.

"I don't know which smells better, you or the food…"

An admonishing finger was waggled under his nose. "I'd hope there was no competition!" Mary-Jane grinned, and shoved Peter gently out of the kitchen. He came over to the table, regarding Erica as he sat down. 

"How'd it go last night?"

"Got them all - your antidote was a great help, thanks. I… there were more of them then I thought…"

Peter looked unsurprised. "Nine of them," he said.

"How did you know that?" Erica was shocked; had he known all along and not told her? No, not Peter…

"Guessed," Peter took a deep slurp from his cup. He had more movement in his right arm today, Erica noticed. "If it's some militant religious cult, nine is a nice mystic number."

"Hmmph. Anyway, Hudson's got them all now. I might pop in later and find out their _raison d'être_. But right now… I'm going to get clean as!"

Both Erica and the Spider-Man costume were now clean, and Erica was feeling a lot better as a result. The costume had to be too, after she had repaired the cut in it; and _her_ cut was almost healed, though she applied a plaster to it out of habit.

Fully dressed, she left the came out of the bathroom, leaving the outfit hanging up to dry and came into the lounge rubbing her hair dry with a towel. Mary-Jane and Peter were sitting at the table, talking over the remains of breakfast. 

"I'll wash up." Erica dropped the towel and took the used dishes into the kitchenette, glancing out the window as she passed it. It promised to be a fine day; the misty cloud from yesterday had rolled away, leaving the buildings she could see, if not exactly gleaming, at least seeming cleaner and more luminous for the sunlight. She heard a peal of laughter over the sound of the water running into the sink - MJ laughing at something Peter said - and sighed as a sudden bubble of homesickness rose within her. Well, hopefully, it was only a few more days until she got back home…

The last fork was left to drain. Erica plonked herself down on the couch. "What now, kiddos?" she asked. She pulled out from behind the cushion she was sitting on, the miniature camera. "I set this up last night, but I don't know that they'll come out at all; it was pretty dark in there."

"It's got a built-in flash…"

"_Now_ he tells me!" Erica passed the camera over to Peter, who flashed a glance at Mary-Jane. 

"Oh no you don't," she said, "You are not going in to the Bugle. Besides, how would you explain how you took those pics with an injured arm?"

Peter sighed. "Yeah, you're right…"

"I'll take them in," said Erica. "I need to go in and do some work anyway. I'll hand them over to the lab, and say I took them; they'll believe that for sure when they see the shitty results."

Peter threw her the film which he had removed. He threw the camera back as well. She caught both in the same hand, showing off. 

………………………………….

"Hiya!" Erica pushed open the door as she spoke, giving plenty of warning to those inside. Peter was alone however; Mary-Jane had gone out to see some of her New York contacts, networking. 

Peter had promised to stay indoors, "…I'm still tired from last night too, I guess." He was slouching on the couch, watching TV with a can of soda in one hand and a bowl of salted nuts sitting on the couch next to him.

"Hey, you're allowed to vege out if you want too." She dropped her backpack on the floor. Then she dropped a bombshell. "I've found Ray-Man."

"What!?" Peter sat up suddenly, sending the nuts flying, "How? Where?"

Erica grinned widely as she bent down to pick up one of the nuts and held it up. "His name's Griffin Dealy. He's a certified nut case." 

Peter groaned and swatted it out of her hand. "C'mon, give!"

"He's that guy I told you about; by the Court and the lift downstairs, y'know, 'Mr Bassett'. I placed a tracer on him and found him yesterday on Fifth Ave leaving a jewellery shop and followed him as far as the train station. Well, after I came back and got my clothes, I went and saw the photographer Barrowman and, um, he said Dealy was asking about special lenses, thought he seemed a bit weird…"

"What sort of lenses?"

"_I_ don't know, I didn't ask. Look, I don't think he would have said much more, eh - I was only there to borrow some tea-bags…"

Peter's eyebrow shot up. Erica blushed.

"Anyway, I went to the shop on Fifth, one of those ones that has heaps of small booths? I started asking around; pretending that Dealy was my uncle and he had Bi-Polar syndrome and I wanted to make sure he wasn't up to anything too silly. And uh, he was wanting to buy a high quality ruby and an alexandrite, whatever that is…"

"Oh, that's interesting… but how do you know he's 'Ray-Man'? And how did you find out his name?"

"I'm coming to that… One of the owners was more tolerant or something, and talked to him for a while. Said he'd claimed he was building a gun that altered people's reality, and something along the lines of '…you'll be able to tell your friends you met Griffin Dealy!' blah, blah, blah."

"Yeah, he wasn't exactly humble when I met him before. It _may_ be him…Or you could be putting two and two together and making lemonade."

"It's too much of a coincidence for it _not_ to be. Of course the dealer was amused. He remarked that a gun was one way of altering your reality, but most people went for drugs. Speaking of which…" Erica looked grim suddenly. "Even though we've found Ray-Man, we still have to stop Otto Octavius. 

"Why not let your friend at the NYPD do it?"

"You know why…"

"Yeah, I know." Peter had always had a difficult relationship with New York's Finest, both as Spider-Man and himself; as a result he was pretty ambivalent towards them. He was glad though, that Erica was having a more positive experience. He went over to the table and picked up his notes with his good arm, and waved them at her. 

"I finished reading Ock's lab notebook. But I don't think it was Ock who wrote them, it was Whithead."

"Why's that?"

"Well, little things…. As the notes continued, there was more prescriptive rather than descriptive notations; I got the strong sense of Whithead's disapproval of certain procedures. Oh, and they fixed the problem with the degenerative neural function, so the victims now can come out of their comas as good as new. Reading between the lines though, there's got to be something more than that… And I don't think the notebook is complete either…"

Peter put the papers down and waved at the still animated TV. "There was a news report earlier. Several more coma victims; the authorities are starting to get extremely worried. The Public Health Department is setting up an educational campaign to warn people of the symptoms. Epidemiologists are of course, stumped, but they're not admitting that in so many words - they don't want mass panic to set in."

"And the victims?"

"Apart from one non-descript, they were all influential persons in New York - this time the count includes a financier, one of the police chiefs, and a commissioner of Public Utilities. The very fact that such high-powered people are the ones succumbing to the virus must make people suspicious - surely?"

Peter stepped back and heard a crunch underfoot as he stood on one of the nuts.

"Oh, here, I'll clean those up for you; we don't want you tripping on them and injuring something else." Erica knelt down and started sweeping the nuts back into their bowl using her forearm. Peter looked down at her back, and noticed her slightly awkward movements as she swept.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, with a sudden thump in his stomach as he became frightened and covered it up with annoyance.

"A wee bit," admitted Erica, without pausing, "Only a large bruising - she'll be right."

Peter bit his tongue; he could tell it was more than that, with all his experience. And he also knew that Ock would be able to tell as well, and take advantage of any weakness.

"Have you been able to test the foam webbing?" he asked.

"Not yet. I'll do it tonight."

Erica stood up and faced him with the bowl in one hand. Their eyes met and held; Erica's extreme pale irises seemed to be transparent, like glass with the light shining on it, reflecting her thoughts, and Peter could read her total trust in him, but also some caginess, something else she was holding back. Either she was learning to lie better - she wasn't flushing - or she was unaware herself of it. He wondered what she was seeing in his eyes. 

But she said only "I'm going to go back down that tunnel again…" She paused, suddenly amused. "I feel like Bilbo Baggins, about to face the dragon, heh."

"Except it'll be no dragon you face…"

"I know that, you dill. That's later. After I've had a bite, I'm going to try and find Griffin Dealy, talk to him. He's not in the phone-book; I looked. I looked his name up on Google and nothing. The Bugle morgue only mentions him twice; a birth notice and a small piece about an engineering works in New Jersey. He was one of a number that got laid off when the works closed. That was six years ago. He's still got a tracer on him though.

"That could take hours…"

"And I could get lucky again. Besides, what else am I going to do until dark? 

Sitting down at the table, Peter had his hand supporting his bowed head. 'Think, damn you!' he told himself. Here he was, a man, an ordinary man apart from the one talent he was born with; his innate scientific smarts, bordering on genius level. If he couldn't come up with a workable hypothesis by the time Erica came back from her hunt, then he had better trade in his college degree for something more useful… a digital camera maybe. 

He gathered together in front of him all the notes that he and Erica had accumulated over the last few days, pulled over a pad of paper and started going through them all once again.

………………………………………………

"Just as Peter predicted," Spidey muttered, thoroughly pissed off. It was early evening and she had been swinging around New York City for several hours, searching for a trace of signal and getting nothing. "He's probably not on Manhattan at all - probably lives in New Jersey still." Her search had been made slower by the broken ribs she had suffered the night before; the continual dull ache was annoying, but the sharp pain when she forgot to brace herself and the tug from the webline in her right hand as it attached to a building surface had her gasping and having to rest momentarily each time while the pain subsided.

She circled around until she got back to the alley where she had stashed her backpack. Dropping down, she threw on her clothes, and emerged into the street, on the hunt now for a takeaway. Erica figured with the amount of time she had spent on her webs, and the rest of her plans for that evening that she should pick something up for herself and not bother Pete and MJ for dinner. After buying, not without some difficulty, a container of noodles and a can of fizzy drink, she came out of the shop with a rather flushed face. The man behind the counter had been very rude to her, at her temerity to ask for change - stereotypical New York she supposed, but she hadn't struck it until now. 

A phone. Spying one down the street, she made for it, intending to let Peter know of her plans. Erica held her bag of food under her chin while she pulled out a handful of change, and stood in front of the pay phone sorting through the coins in her palm to find the correct one. The shelter of the phone stopped her from being jostled by pedestrians, but there was a pair of eyes the other side of the sidewalk watching her actions. Erica dialled and got the answering machine. Where was Peter? "Uh, hi Pete. I'm grabbing some dinner for myself and then I'll do those couple of things I talked about. Expect me back late. Cheerio." She hung up, and involved with her own thoughts, didn't notice that she was being followed.

Looking for somewhere to sit and eat, she decided that nearby Bryant Park would do - it was a nice enough place from her lunch there the other day. She roamed around in the gathering dusk, noting that most of the other people in the park where using it as a way to get from one place to another. Sitting on a bench in front of a group of trees where a noisy flock of sparrows were settling themselves down to roost for the night, she unrolled the top of her bag and began eating, feeling quite comfortable. She didn't pay attention to the rustling in the trees to begin with, presuming them to be birds, but when it continued, she casually put her food down and got up, as if to stretch. Looking out the corner of her eye, she saw a pale face peering at her. 'Oh no, not again,' she thought. What was she, a muggers' magnet? Then again, being alone in a park in New York after nightfall wasn't the smartest move either. Why hadn't her spider-sense been triggered?

Erica picked up her bag and placed it on the bench and pretended to look for something inside, so that she was facing the unknown person. In a few seconds, but what seemed like minutes to Erica, the stranger left the trees and came over to the bench. It was a woman, dressed in an old black bomber jacket and a lilac-coloured skirt with white geometric squiggles across it. On her feet she wore white sports socks and beat-up old sneakers. In fact, her wardrobe looked entirely put together from an op shop. Erica wasn't surprised to see she was also carrying a tote bag in each hand. She put them down by her feet as she peered searchingly into Erica's face, her blue eyes sharp in the face of indeterminate age.

"A Word to the Wise," she suddenly said in a loud voice, which made Erica jump. "Don't count your Money in the Open like that. You Never know Who is Watching."

"Uh, thanks. I won't." Erica fastened her bag closed and picked up her food. She had almost finished the noodles anyway. She slung her bag over a shoulder and walked off to the nearest rubbish bin, followed by the bag lady. 

"Where Are You Going?" she boomed behind her.

Erica thought fast - she didn't want to end up being trailed around Manhattan by a crazy… no, that was unfair, she probably wasn't crazy, just lonely and unwanted, but she still didn't want her following. It would be easy enough to give her the slip though…

"To a toy shop. I want to buy a present for my nephew," she improvised. Actually, she had an idea for something to act as a distraction later that evening. 

"I will Come With You," the woman announced.

"No, it's all right. You Stay… uh, stay here. See ya!" Erica took off at a fast walk, not looking behind her as she made her way across the park and intending to walk up Fifth Avenue. She could still hear the woman following her, her rattly breathing and flapping plastic. 

Making sure the backpack was securely on her back, Erica waited for an opportunity to duck away unseen; again she was thankful that her red sneakers were slip-ons; it wouldn't slow her down to take them off to scale a wall. She nipped into an alcove and with a huge leap gained the top of a cornice two stories up, where she flattened herself against the stone. She had to hold her breath to stop from gagging - this must be one of the favourite resting places of the pigeons, the ledge was covered in their excrement. 

'Oh great, now I'm covered in pigeon poo!' she thought to herself. She was certainly opening up to numerous new experiences taking on the role of Spider-Man. Not only pigeons, but general dirt and pollution on the surfaces of buildings from the traffic and streets below, although that was not as much of a problem the higher you went above street level. The weirdest thing she had encountered, when she first started web-slinging, was on the rooftop of one of the taller skyscrapers - the Metropolitan Life, she thought, though she couldn't be positive - heaps of spiders and their huge mass of cobwebs, set out to catch flying insects even way up there. She'd since come across more skyscrapers infested in the same way. 

She heard a noise, and peered carefully over the side of the ledge. In the gap at the entrance of the alcove stood the silhouette of the bag lady, unsure of where Erica had disappeared to. 

"Where Are You?" she called out, her voice gaining a slight quaver to it.

Erica felt guilty; it sounded to her as if the old woman were about to cry. But she knew she couldn't afford to have her hanging around. She waited a few minutes after the woman had moved on, then jumped down, brushing the white flecks off her jeans and the front of her jacket. She hoped she didn't smell too much; her nose was still filled with the stench. She peeped cautiously around the corner, making sure the woman was nowhere in sight, then hurried along the pavement, headed uptown, to make her purchase.

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	28. The Virus Checker

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A/N: I should know how many chapters I've got left to write by next chapter - I'm getting there!

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Chapter 28: The Virus Checker

It was fully dark but still reasonably early in the evening. The group of condemned buildings were surrounded by plastic tape strung from lamppost to lamppost, spelling out 'Danger' in a long line, repeating the one word over and over, an unarticulated mantra intended to stop people from passing. It didn't stop the homeless. Nor did it stop Spidey, who passed overhead unseen to land softly on the roof of the outermost structure. 

Coming back to this area took a lot of her nerve, as it was only two evenings ago that she and Peter had been set upon by a gang of low-lifes at this very spot. It seemed a lot quieter now, but that was in part due to the fact that no-one knew she was there, and she intended to keep it that way. She leapt to the next roof inwards, aiming for a rooftop in about the centre, knowing that the likelihood of being over-looked was very slim. However, halfway through her next leap, her spider-sense buzzed like a swarm of bees down a chimney. Instinctively, she changed direction in mid-leap, flipping back to the wall of the building she had just left.

Clinging there in the shadows, she studied the vicinity, trying to spy what it was that set her spider-sense off so alarmingly. Then she caught glimpse of a dark figure crouched on the rooftop of the building opposite, the one she had been about to land on. The person was holding something long and narrow, and Spidey didn't think it was an umbrella against unlikely rain-showers. She didn't think she had been spotted, or else the figure would have moved, or taken some other action by now. Spidey wondered briefly if the sniper was set for her, but how could it be? No-one, not even Peter knew exactly where she was headed tonight. Then his target must be someone else. But who?

An altercation started up below; two men apparently beating up on a third. Spidey nearly made a move to swing down, when she noticed the sniper still paused opposite, not watching or paying any attention to the fight down below. It was almost as if it were a staged fight, a set-up, and the marksman was waiting for another player in the unfolding drama to show. She too, waited and watched.

The players must have started their act on a hidden signal, because it wasn't at all long before there was more movement in the street shadows, and a figure in red stood on the pavement opposite and threw an object at the brawling men. It cracked across the head of one, bounced off, and rebounded onto the hand of another, then ricocheted back to it's source. 

"Daredevil!" exclaimed Spidey under her breath.

The silent man caught it easily in a gloved hand, and returned the billy-club to it's scabbard. His head tilted slightly upwards, as if he had heard his name. Which he probably had, thought Spidey. She couldn't give him any further warning without tipping off the sniper as well. Daredevil must be his intended target. 

When Daredevil made as if to step into the street towards the recovering combatants, and into range of the marksman, Spidey decided it was time for her to make a move. With a flick of her wrist, she fired off a webline and swung across to the rooftop where the sniper was perched. So focused was he on his target, that he didn't react to the approaching threat until she was almost upon him. Releasing her line and flipping onto the roof as the sniper brought his rifle around to aim at her instead, she rapidly shot web from both wrists, aiming for both the gun and the sniper's eyes before he even had a chance to start squeezing the trigger. She somersaulted towards him, then straightened out her legs, catching him in the jaw with both feet. He went down sprawling at the edge of the roof, out cold. Spidey took the rifle out of his motionless hands and twisted the gun until the barrel was bent like a cotter pin. Then she dropped the gun by the unconscious sniper, with an expression of disgust hidden by her mask. 

Glancing down into the street, she noticed that all three combatants had disappeared, perhaps slipping inside a nearby building to lose themselves in the warren of rooms and corridors. She couldn't see Daredevil anywhere below, but a second later, a slight tingle alerted her to his presence behind her. She turned.

"'Well met by moonlight, proud Titania.'"

"'What! jealous Oberon.' And it's 'ill met', not well met." replied Spidey. 

"That depends on your point of view," said Daredevil, relaxed, "Well met for me; ill met for him." He gave the sniper a small shove with his foot. 

Spidey chuckled.

"Thanks for that," he continued, "I knew there wasn't something quite right about that fight - I couldn't sense enough fear from the victim, and I was sure there were more hidden presences about from the number of heartbeats I could hear. You I spotted almost immediately." He paused for a moment, taking in her form with his enhanced senses.

"You're injured," he stated. 

"Broken rib," she said. She figured it was no good trying to hide that sort of thing from him.

"How's Peter?" 

Now Spidey felt uncomfortable, and knew that Daredevil would know that too. "He's injured - it happened in this neighbourhood, as a matter of fact. I've come back to finish what we were going to do…"

Daredevil grunted. "So that was you two nights ago."

"Yeah…"

He bent his head down at the figure at his feet. "I'll take care of this; do you need any help?"

"Only some information if you have it. Have you ever heard of a man named Griffin Dealy?"

Slowly, after a pause, Daredevil shook his head. "No, I can't recollect anyone of that name…"

"Bugger," said Spidey, then blushed under her mask as she saw an amused twitch about DD's mouth. Then she felt herself going even redder as she realised her mask wouldn't hide her blush from him. She started talking again to cover up her reaction.

"We need to find out his whereabouts…"

"Is it his real name?" asked Daredevil.

Taken aback, Spidey stammered, "I-I hadn't thought of that." Pause. She thought further. "Yes. Yes, I'm certain it is, even though I can't find much about him."

"I'll do a brief check for you myself, through channels I use."

"Would you? That'd be bonza!"

Daredevil broke into a smile. "Quid pro quo," he said. "Give me a call tomorrow to see what I've got."

"Will do." Spidey held out her hand to shake. Without any hesitation, Daredevil took it in his firm grip and they shook hands. "Thanks Matt."

"You're welcome…?"

"Erica," said Spidey in reply to his unspoken question.

"You're welcome Erica. I hope to see you again."

"Count on it!" Spidey waved and ran off the edge, leaping for the next building in.

Finding a rooftop suitable to her purposes, Spidey quickly changed web cartridges for the ones containing the special foam formula. Aiming at the struts supporting an old water tower, she set off the triggers and jumped back quickly in surprise. She hadn't expected the way the foam splurted out in a gunky looking blob and expanded with extreme rapidity, engulfing the struts and the legs of the structure in a glistening mass of tiny bubbles, looking almost exactly like the result of an over-exuberant bubble bath. Good. Hopefully that would mean that Dr. Octopus would similarly be surprised. Spidey checked the cartridges - they were empty. So, the foam was a one-shot only, no second chances with it. That was good to know beforehand. 

Pausing only slightly to remove one of her gloves, Spidey walked up to the mass of foam and prodded it with a bare finger, just in case the foam hadn't set. She giggled softly to herself - it was like testing a giant blamange. 

It was set hard - 'Make that a huge pavlova,' she thought. But how hard was it? Spidey replaced her glove, then took a punch at the foam, not holding back. 

"Ow!" She shook her hand. Pretty hard. 

Satisfied with the results of the test, Spidey removed the empty cartridges and replaced them with normal webbing cartridges, preparatory to swinging across town to the Moroney Clinic and it's hidden tunnel.

Clinging to the shadows of the hospital building of the Clinic, as she had before, Spidey spent some time taking in the scene below. She wanted to be sure that the routines of the guards hadn't changed since the last couple of times she was here. 

Since she didn't think she'd be so lucky twice to gain the tunnel unseen purely by chance, she decided to create a diversion, one that would not invite any undue suspicion on the part of the security guards. She slowly crept down the wall, nearer to the ground, and nearer to the corner of the main building where the light shone. As the ambulatory guard reached the light and paused there, Spidey reached behind her back for a small object she had secured there with webbing earlier, when she had retrieved it from where she had stashed her backpack. 

Holding it in her hand, she grinned to herself under her mask; she would only have a very short time to get inside the prefab, and so would miss the reactions of the guards to the toy. She would've liked to see them… 

She heard the crunching of footsteps on the gravel as the guard turned and walked a few paces before stopping again, this time closer to the door of the outbuilding. He looked around surreptitiously, then gave a light knock on the door. A minute later, the guard who had been within monitoring the cameras came out.

"Got a light?" asked the first guard.

"Hold on." He glanced nervously about as he fumbled in his trouser pocket. Neither of them were moving far from the door. He finally pulled out a lighter and flicked it on for his mate. Suddenly, there was a series of loud bangs sounding near the entrance of the carriageway.

"What…?" The lighter and the unlit cigarette dropped to the ground as the two guards ran towards the source of the noise. A shadow detached itself from the wall and silently slipped inside the outbuilding.

The sound from the air conditioning unit covered any small sound Spidey made while entering, but as the room was empty, she didn't worry so much about being silent. She did stay creeping along the walls though - no sense in being stupid. Quickly she entered the tunnel and literally sticking to the ducting, made her way down. The purling of the water in the channel seemed louder; there was evidence of more water being carried away from the walls to drain away harmlessly. Spidey hurried along. She didn't want to spend a large amount of time here if she could help it; if Doc Ock was going to announce his 'big discovery' to the world tomorrow, then it was possible he could be in the lab, working on last minute details, perhaps even faking up proofs to support it all. Though lack of proof didn't stop some crackpot group claiming they had cloned the first human. Spidey grinned; of course in this universe a couple of dangerous crackpots had already cloned humans, as Spider-Man had discovered to his sorrow and joy already. 

The light grew. She was reaching the hidden laboratory now, and had to try and be a bit more stealthy. Keeping her body so close to the rough brick ceiling that she was almost hugging the bricks, she crept the last few paces and peered around the corner and into the interior of the lab. At the bench was a man, the man Spidey had presumed was Dr Whithead, busily occupied with an array of samples. Spidey watched closely, attempting to memorise his every move, so that she could report it back to Peter later. It soon dawned on her, however, that even _she_ could figure out just what Dr Whithead was doing - he was taking one sample at a time, passing it through a naked flame until it blackened, pulverising the residue and then adding water to it. The resultant mess was then quietly washed down the sink. He was destroying the project samples.

So shocked that she didn't stop to think _why_ he was doing such a thing, Spidey dropped to the ground, meaning to stop him before he went any further.

"Wouldn't it be easier to flush them down the toilet?" she asked rhetorically.

Whithead dropped the sample he was holding in startlement. He whirled around.

"Spider-Man?! Are you _the_ Spider-Man?"

"I'm it until the next one comes along."

Whithead gave a tight little smile, that looked as if it would crack his head open if he allowed it to get any wider. Spidey thought he had the demeanour of someone under an intense amount of strain in recent times. She supposed working for Otto Octavius would be enough to do that to anyone.

"I'm glad you're here," Whithead said with a restrained fervour, "I can tell you… you must stop him before sets the final stage of his plan in motion!"

Spidey looked around. "You weren't expecting me were you?"

"No, but Otto had talked, or should I say ranted, about you often enough that I knew you were a threat to his plans."

"Where is he? If you're going to talk, I'd hate for him to interrupt…"

"No chance of that; he's at ESU finalising details for his conference tomorrow." Whithead pushed his glasses up and pressed a hand over his eyes in weariness. "Listen. I don't know how you found out about this lab, or how much you know, but I'm going to presume you know nothing. We'd better sit for this."

He turned to gather two lab stools; when he turned back, he found that Spidey had already spun her own perch from webbing, and was crouched within it.

Sitting himself on one of the stools, Whithead began.

"Two years ago, Dr Octavius approached me at my clinic wanting some help with his mechanical arms. He has a … I guess it would be like a telepathic link to them. He wanted to find out the exact neurological basis for the link. He was willing to pay a very worthwhile sum, and I thought it sounded a fascinating topic for research. Otto already had some ideas to start from… Slowly, I'm not sure exactly how, he insinuated himself into my business more and more, always keeping a low profile, but directing the path my work was taking."

He waved a hand at their surroundings.

"He financed and set up this lab when he found out about the tunnel, and hired security guards. It wasn't above-board, but he insisted that it was needed for our private research. Then, when we had just about pinpointed what the link was, he changed tack - said he had an idea regarding inserting different DNA in viruses, and using the virus to transmit that DNA into human test subjects. Needless to say, I was horrified by his ethics, but when he said it was only going to be a virtual human subject - a computer simulation of the results, I agreed. I'd gotten carried away by the interest of it all. The DNA he wanted to transmit was harmless, but the model could mean it's a way of carrying out a type of gene therapy, especially given the right kind of virus… for example, what if you used a virus that attached itself to parts of the brain - like meningococcal viruses - to attach DNA that would replace damaged areas to restore brain function?" 

Whithead's eyes glinted behind the large lenses of his glasses in a brief spurt of enthusiasm. He sobered up pretty quickly as he continued with his tale.

"I was deluded; Octavius didn't use computer modelling to get results, he used live humans, human flotsam dragged off the streets. I discovered that by accident one day and was told I was too far in to not be involved, that if I wanted my name and reputation to remain intact, I should continue working for him, in secret."

"And what was the virus and the DNA?" asked Spidey. She was confused; this wasn't what Peter had deciphered from the notebook.

Whithead sagged even further. "The virus was based on the Ross River virus, usually transmitted by mosquito, but unknown in this part of the world…"

Spidey straightened slightly. "It's from Australia," she said, remembering a holiday she once spent on the Gold Coast, thankfully not during mosquito season.

"That's right," replied Whithead, surprised. "And the DNA was something Octavius designed - I knew the sequences, but not their function. Well, not until this morning, that is. But to continue… Octavius also wanted to insert a drug within the virus, one to make them go into a coma while the DNA inserted itself into their system - the idea was to allow this to happen without them being conscious of it … Sort of like putting a patient under anaesthesia so they don't feel any pain or sensation while being operated upon. What we chose to do this, was a modification of GHB, which was commonly used to induce a medical coma, because it had only minor cardiovascular and respiratory depressant effects. The side effect of seizures meant it was discontinued, but I've found a way of nullifying any harmful effects."

His face twisted in pain and distaste at the recollection.

"Unfortunately, the results on our live subjects weren't good at the early stage of development…" 

Spidey thought back on the contents of the lab notebook - it was starting to make more sense.

"…got over that. He was insistent that you be one of those who would be exposed to the modified virus. I'm glad that it didn't take. That's one of the downsides of using a virus as a carrier - not everybody is susceptible. Enough are though. Octavius chose the victims, who were exposed to the virus by a device that sprayed a fine mist, somewhat like being sneezed on. He had some hired help to do the deed. My role was to take the victims into my clinic; ostensibly to care for them until a cure was found, but in reality for Octavius to continue experimenting on them. That's where the samples were from. For seeing how far the recombinant DNA had spread through the system."

He fell silent, the lines on his face dragging down. Spidey observed his downcast figure grimly. Sure he was being blackmailed, but he was still culpable; he still had the chance early on to approach the authorities and come clean, although she supposed his reputation would still have gone down the gurgler, but not as much as now, now he had obviously decided to tell her all. _And_ he had also continued the research out of pure self interest - out of academic pride and kudos. She softened slightly - it was very easy to judge, and who was to say what they would have done in his place? Especially when Dr. Octopus was involved…

Loosening his tie, Whithead started speaking again, slowly leading to the conclusion.

"Octavius is evidently pleased with the results so far, and those results are the reason he's gone for a position at ESU and calling a press conference. He's going to announce that he has made a break-through in the treatment of certain types of nervous system paralysis, with a possible application for curing spinal injuries."

"I thought he was a nuclear scientist?" said Spidey, puzzled.

"He claims he's made a change of direction in his field of speciality, due to his appendages."

"Yeah, I suppose that could be seen as legit."

"But the actual purpose of the conference isn't - he's sent out invitations to a wide range of people - not only the press and the scientific community, but important political and business figures as well. And once he's gathered them all in one place, he intends to expose them all to the virus."

"But that's insane! What does Ock want with hundreds of people in comas?"

"Ah, that's the part I discovered by chance this morning. You see, once they fall into one, they won't be in it for long. Octavius will 'cure' them all. And you know that DNA he sequenced? That details section of the neurological link Otto has with his metal appendages. The upshot of which, is those victims will be able to be controlled by Octavius in the same way he controls his 'arms'!"

"That's totally piss-awful!" exclaimed Spidey, lapsing briefly into her native idiom, "He could do untold damage!"

"That's why I'm telling you. You're the only one who can stop him!"

"All right, but what are you going to do now? You'd best not be around when Dr Ock finds out what you've been doing."

"Don't worry about me, I can cover for myself." 

"Well, OK." Spidey thought hard for a moment. Then she looked at Whithead. "Can you give me any proof? I might need it later…"

"Yes, yes I can. I quite see your point. Wait a minute…" He got off his stool and went over to the bench, where he took one of the samples he hadn't yet destroyed. He checked the label, then went over to the computer, punched a few keys, and waited for the screen to change. A few more keys, and the printer clattered into life. 

"There, I'm just printing off the notes relevant to this sample," he said, as he continued typing, "I'm going to print off a few general background proofs as well." 

The printer stopped. Gathering up the printouts, Whithead came back to Spidey, and handed them to her. She had hopped out of her 'chair' and torn the webbing down, not to leave any evidence of her presence - better to make certain.

"Thanks," she said.

"And these too…" Whithead pulled out a small wad of paper from a pocket. "These are notes I've made myself after my discoveries this morning." He unfolded them, smoothed them out, then took a pen from his shirt pocket and wrote something, explaining as he did so. "I'm adding my signature and the date. That should be all you need. Best of luck."

Folding the papers up again, he passed them over, replacing his pen. He took his glasses off, and wiped his brow with the back of his hand, nervousness straining with relief at his irretrievable action.

"Good luck to you too. I'd better get going before Ock returns. Can I ask you a small favour?"

"Certainly."

"Can you distract the security guards for me? I don't think the same ploy will work on them twice…"

Spidey turned to go, leaping up for the ducting and crawling along, glancing back at Whithead as she went. He stood, astonished for a moment, his eyebrows showing above the rim of his glasses. Then he strode forward, keeping his eyes on Spidey while they travelled the length of the tunnel. When they reached the entrance, he paused and indicated he wanted to speak. 

Spidey crawled down the side of the tunnel a short distance, so that her head was level with his.

"I just remembered something Octavius mentioned," he whispered, knowing the noise from the plant machinery nearby would be enough to cover their conversation, "The device for spreading the virus will be disguised - I disturbed him laughing about it, though I didn't know what he was talking about at the time. It will be as something unexpected, I think. Also, knowing Otto, he won't attempt to set it off until after he has finished making his announcement."

"I think you're right. Thanks." Spidey made as if to move, but Whithead stopped her with an uplifted hand. 

"I may not be there tomorrow, and I don't know if I'll get the opportunity to speak with you again, but I'd like to say - well, thanks for being Spider-Man…"

Spidey was taken aback. Did he somehow know? But no, he meant something else.

"…and giving me a sight I'll never forget. Adhering to the ceiling like that…" He shook his head. "How do you do it?"

Grinning under her mask, she replied "I hold my breath and think pure thoughts."

Whithead smiled. This time, the smile came more easily, not so forced. Spidey noticed that his posture was more upright as well.

"Never mind. Just… thanks." 

He took one last look at her as she skittered back up to the ducting, then went into the prefab. Spidey, waiting by the entrance, heard him say to the guard who had returned to the monitoring screens, "Come with me! I think there's something that needs your attention…" 

A few seconds later, when she poked her head around, the room was empty, and the door wide open. Making sure the papers and the sample were securely tucked under her belt, she discretely left.

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	29. Set Up

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A/N: I've figured it out - seven chapters to go after this one - and as a bonus, I'm also posting chapter 30 the same time as this one!

Cheers,

Apteryx

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Chapter 29: Set Up

A set of fingers, clad in red, curled themselves under the window frame as Peter watched, amused. He had been fixing coffee in the kitchen for himself and Mary-Jane after they had returned from dinner, and was staring out the window waiting for the percolator to finish while MJ was in the bathroom. 

The window lifted up, and a head popped in. 

"Hello! One white tea, no sugar please."

The head disappeared to be replaced a second later by a flurry of arms and legs as Spidey climbed through, to land on the floor next to Peter. He flipped the switch on the kettle again to boil the water for Spidey's tea. Shrugging off her backpack, peeling the mask off and taking a deep breath, Erica ran her fingers vigorously through her hair, making spikes stick up in a random fashion over her head. 

"Did you get my message?" she asked.

"Yep, about 15 minutes ago. That's OK. How did your evening go?"

"I want to hear about yours first." 

"Not much to tell. MJ and I went out for dinner and…"

"Peter?" yelled a voice from another room, "Is that Erica?"

"No hon, it's the telephone sanitiser come to sanitise our phone," Pete yelled back, watching Erica grin. He turned to her again. 

"Before we ate out though, I went through all our notes - I'm sure there's still something missing, it's like those lab notes only have half the equation… I've come up with a theory - do you want to hear it?"

"Yeah, sure," said Erica. Peter searched her face; for a moment there, he thought he heard laughter in her voice, but she appeared only interested, with no trace of redness in her face at all. Peter continued making the tea and coffee while he spoke.

"OK. What do we have? A virus transmitting a drug to place its victims in a coma. What is the point of putting people in a coma? I think something else must take place while they are incapacitated. It can't be waiting for a certain event or amount of time to pass, because of the disparate backgrounds of the victims. Why does the lab have all that gene sequencing equipment if it's not used? Now, the main function of a virus is to copy its own genetic material into the cells of the infected organism. What if… if the virus is used to transmit different genetic material into its victims? What genes would Ock be inserting into these people?" He was almost talking to himself, surmising as he went along.

Peter took the mugs of coffee out of the kitchen, followed by Erica with her tea.

"That certainly sounds feasible," she said.

This time, Peter knew that she was laughing at him. He carefully placed the coffee on the table, only moving his lower arm to avoid any twinge of pain from his injury. He studied her, positive that she knew something now.

"OK," he said, with mock severity, "Spill it."

"I'm not going to spill my tea, when you've just made it for me!" She was definitely laughing…

"What did you find out this evening?"

Erica sat down, taking a slurp from her tea before answering. 

"Nothing on Griffin Dealy, unfortunately. Total blank there, though I did run into Daredevil again, and he's going to do a brief search for us."

Peter was surprised - how did she convince him to do that? 

Another person arrived at the table then; it was Mary-Jane, finished with her shower. She had her hair tied back in a loose knot, and was wearing jeans and a shirt, both close fitting. 

"Continue as before. I want to hear too," she said. She picked up her coffee and took it over to the couch, sitting down and watching both Peter and Erica at the table. 

Peter caught a glimpse through her eyes of what the scene must look like; an unshaven man with his arm in a sling, and a costumed super-hero, mask removed sitting down together for coffee. Not as weird as some New York sights, he supposed, but strange nonetheless. He turned back to Erica.

"And the lab?"

"The lab? It wasn't deserted this time - Whithead was already there…" Erica told them of their conversation. She stood and fetched her bag from the kitchen floor where she had left it, and produced the papers and the sample.

Peter took them in pale silence, and read the printout and the notes, with Erica and Mary-Jane waiting solemnly for him to finish. When he had, he looked up, his eyes seeing nothing, remembering past encounters with Otto Octavius; after the Green Goblin, Dr Octopus had given him some of his worst moments, but unlike the Goblin, Ock's plans were in some ways more straight forward - a little world domination, with side trips to rid himself of Spider-Man, who had stood in his way so many times before. Peter thought about tomorrow; Ock just _had_ to expect Spider-Man at his conference. And he was out 'finalising details' tonight… that did not bode well. He sighed and laid the papers flat.

"It all hinges on his conference tomorrow, doesn't it? I suppose with this…" he tapped the paper, "…you could go to the police, but what would that achieve? They'd approach Ock, he'd agree to talk, throwing blame on Whithead. By the time they searched the lab, all damning evidence would be gone, and Ock free to plan again, only with worse effect. No, _we_ have to stop him tomorrow…"

Mary-Jane frowned, not liking that 'we' she had heard from Peter. He tried to forestall her.

"You're coming too. I don't like the risk of exposing you to the virus as well, but you'd be useful, I couldn't be there…do anything without you. I'll be there as the Bugle's photographer. They're bound to send a reporter as well, but you can be my assistant… you know, change film in the camera for me, stuff like that…"

"What about Erica?" 

"She'll be there, but as Spider-Man. You'll have to hide and time your entrance - I could give you a signal, if you want…"

"She's jake," Erica said.

Peter felt as though he were actually of use, planning their movements for tomorrow. He didn't mind the arm so much…

"Oh, and Erica?" he said, thinking of another aspect, "Perhaps you'd better drop by the venue at ESU later tonight, once Ock's gone - check out the place, look for any nasty surprises. I doubt he'd have set up the virus device yet, but traps for unwary Spiders…?"

"Gotcha. And in return, somethin' else to keep you occupied." Erica removed a couple of empty web-cartridges from her belt, and chucked them on the table. "I tested the web-foam - works great, but it's a one shot. These need refilling."

Peter smiled, "Gotcha," he repeated.

Erica flashed a small grin, grabbed her bag and disappeared into the bathroom.

"You're not going to do that now, are you?" asked Mary-Jane.

"No, tomorrow morning's soon enough." Peter wondered if Matt would be able to come up with a lead for them on Dealy, if they would be able to find him tomorrow; with a confrontation with Ock coming up, they needed to know if Dealy really was 'Ray-Man', and more importantly, what had happened to his weapon? 

Erica yawned. Opening her eyelids seemed to take enormous effort, she didn't get nearly enough sleep last night. She yawned again mightily, her lower jaw joints popping, and rubbed her eyes as she sat up. This morning, there was no smell of cooking food, and she was alone in the living area. But there were the remains of a breakfast already on the kitchen bench, and although the bedroom door was still closed, she could hear noises from within. Erica hopped out from under her blanket and stood, scratching her head, yawning still. Blast these yawns. She padded over to the door and gave a couple of gentle taps; there was a small clattering sound, then the door opened. 

Peter grinned. "You're up, O sleepy one!" 

Erica replied with another yawn. "Whassup?"

"I'm mixing up some more formula, MJ's job hunting, and no word from Daredevil. And you've missed breakfast."

"Humph, I'll make my own." She turned back into the lounge, the door closing again behind her, incredulous that she had managed to sleep through the noise of someone moving about. She glanced up at the clock as she got dressed; it was after nine-thirty. That was a real sleep in for her! Running her fingers through her hair as a comb, she debated with herself whether it was too early to ring up Matt; nah… he was a lawyer, a working stiff, he'd have been up for ages, even with his night activities. Breakfast first though…

Flipping through the phone book, Erica finally found the number she wanted; Nelson and Murdock, Attorneys-at-law. She could have asked Peter if he knew, but she didn't want to disturb him if he were busy with the foam. She dialled the number, and was answered by a glib professional, who put her through to Matt immediately she gave her first name; he must have warned the receptionist to expect the call.

"I hope I'm not phoning too early…" she began.

"Not at all. Did you have a successful evening?"

"Depends on your definition of successful… but yeah, not too bad. And you? Any news about Griffin Dealy?"

There was a chuckle on the other end of the line. "Cut to the chase, huh? I have an address in New Jersey where he used to live, but it seems he recently left. No-one knows where to… I can continue the search if you want…"

Erica sat back - she had been on the edge of the chair, waiting to hear what she wanted to hear. "Uh, no… thanks for trying Matt, but I think it might be too late… Never mind, Pete and I'll figure something out."

"Fine. Give me a call if you need to. Until then; good luck."

"Thanks. Cheerio." 

Erica replaced the handset and slumped down further. She was _not_ looking forward to the afternoon. Stopping Doc Ock from setting off his virus device was not going to be a piece of cat's meat, no matter how hard she pretended it would be. 

Last night, when she had gone to the new ESU Central Services building where the press conference was to be held, she had searched all around the huge foyer/auditorium for any traps or devices, using both her normal and spider-senses, but with zilch results. The device must still be waiting to be set up closer to the announcement, and as for possible traps, she'd be willing to bet that Ock also had something sneaky up one of his snaky tentacles. 

But that wasn't what was really worrying her; where was Griffin Dealy? 

Once Ock was out of the way, she'd have more time to concentrate on finding him, at least before the next big villain came along. She was beginning to see, to feel for herself, why Peter wasn't too sad to have a break, although it was not exactly a peaceful rest for him either. However, as if in contradiction to that thought, she also had another one; she noticed last night how happy he was to be actively involved and she suspected, that even if he didn't consciously know it himself, he would be happy to don the webs once more. It was not only a sense of responsibility, it was a strange inner compulsion, deep inside his psyche so that even without his powers, he could still not let go of the urge to _be_ Spider-Man.

And herself? What was her inner compulsion? Erica could admit to herself now that she enjoyed having the spider-powers, that the fights didn't bother her as much as they had now she had the full confidence in her abilities. But - and she had to be honest about this also - did she want to stay here in this universe? It was more exciting, but would it still be exciting when she was plain Erica Stirling again? 

She sighed, at the same time as Peter came out of his room.

"All done!" He flexed the fingers on his right hand, trying to relax the muscles after the close, delicate work they'd done. Then he noticed Erica's dejected stance.

"What's the matter? Got second thoughts about tackling Ock?"

"No, it's not that…" She gave another sigh, then straightened up. "I'm worried about 'Ray-Man'. I'm going out to do a last search for him, and I think I'll visit Mr Plod the Policeman while I'm about it. I don't know about you, but I can't think of a safe way to evacuate that building before Ock sets off his device, other than yelling 'everybody out' and having half the bally crowd ignore it anyway. I'd feel better giving the police a tip off and have them deal with the crowd while I deal with Ock."

Peter nodded. "You've been giving it some thought. Any strategies for this afternoon?"

"Yeah well… the main one was move fast and don't get distracted. Stay out of range of his arms… easier said than done I reckon." She grinned at Peter, who nodded in abstractedly in response, as if he were thinking of something else entirely.

Erica grinned some more and left him standing there as she headed towards the bathroom.

"See ya later."

A last look behind her before she took off, showed Peter still standing lost in thought.

After another fruitless search, Spidey headed across to the Precinct, and Sgt Hudson. Her ribs seemed a lot better this morning, though she still had some twinges every now and then - not enough to prevent her swinging to her full extent - the amount of vague rest she'd had was enough to help. Knowing now exactly where Hudson's office window was, she didn't waste time as she let go her web line and landed with a soft thud, sprawled with feet and hands touching the stone and positioned so that she could look inside. Spidey chuckled to herself; the capture of the Untongued must have generated untold paperwork, enough to keep Hudson busy for at least a week - she'd have to find out what was behind all of that business sometime... 

She sat perched on the open window sill, head tilted down underneath the end of the venetian blind, looking over Hudson's shoulder at his desk where he was working, carefully and methodically. 

"I knew something was keeping you off the streets…" Spidey threw in the comment, knowing it would be lobbed back to her.

"On or off, it's still essential work." Without pausing, the Sargent continued, "Come in - you'll be attracting attention there, we don't want to have you in for wasting police time."

"Really?" Spidey hopped down, jumped into the chair the other side of the desk, and sat back with her crossed feet up on the desk and arms folded across her chest. Hudson could choose to interpret that question in any way he liked. He chose his way.

"Not that we could hold you for long if you didn't want to be held."

Spidey grinned under her mask, idly wondering what it would feel like to be held by Bill Hudson. "Too right!" she said.

"So, what brings you here this time? Not just my pretty face…"

Don't count on it, thought Spidey to herself, watching the shadows fall across the planes of his face as he spoke, but aloud she said, "There's a certain person giving a press conference this afternoon - I'm wondering about the level of police presence at it…"

Hudson raised an eyebrow, then slowly put down his pen and leaned forward over his desk, his hands outspread.

"This 'certain person' wouldn't by any chance be someone you've crossed paths with before, would it?"

"You could say that." Spidey prevaricated; _she_ hadn't, but Spider-Man had. 

"And why should we provide a presence on _your_ say so?"

Spidey sighed; she couldn't tell whether the sargent was serious, or having her on.

"Because I'm a recognised Hyphenate?" she replied, forcing herself to stay relaxed. It was the right approach. Hudson chuckled.

"All right. Obviously you know something we don't. For your information, we were going to have a few personnel there, but we'll increase it now, discretely. Any idea of…?"

"Evacuation, possibly contamination control…"

Hudson sat back up straight. "Conta… You're not kidding, are you?"

Spidey shook her head, sitting up straighter herself, "I only wish I were. And we can't stop him beforehand - he'd only re-group and come back deadlier than ever. This is our only chance - I'm not happy about the circumstances myself - not what I would've chosen, but…"

"We've got to make the best of it." Hudson sighed in turn. "OK Spider-Man, thanks for the heads up." He got out of his chair and went towards the window. "Perhaps when this is all over, I can have a good talk with you."

"Perhaps," agreed Spidey as she reached the window in one bound, "If I'm still around that is…" If she was still around, she would like a good talk too, but as Erica, not Spider-Man.

"Well, good luck, for all of us!"

"Luck is a talent I don't have. I can but hope for a spot of _bricolage_."

Spidey clambered out the window, staying just outside preparatory to swinging off - although her interlude with Hudson had been dwelling on an unpleasant matter, she had enjoyed it nonetheless and was almost reluctant to leave. Hudson gripped the edge of the sill and poked his head out the window, tilting it to get a good look at the wall-crawler lightly adhering to the stonework by her feet and finger-tips, her back to the wall. She turned her head and regarded him.

"What does it feel like, to be able to do something no one else can do?" he asked.

Spidey lifted a hand in wonder and placed it back down on the smooth stone, as if she had only discovered that indeed she was doing something out of the ordinary.

"You mean this?" 

She thought for a moment - what answer should she give? Her own experience, or what Peter perhaps felt? 

"Well, it _is_ kinda freaky I suppose, but when it's second nature to you, then it's - I dunno - just natural. I guess I feel since I can do something no one else can, then I'd better make the most of the ability, eh?"

"But why the mask?"

"Why not?" 

She suddenly pushed away from the wall with her legs and launched herself into the air, slinging a web as she went, aware that she was being watched by Hudson as she swung off down the street. That was getting a wee bit too close for comfort, that last question - difficult to answer it without getting close to the bone…

************************************************************


	30. Press Conference

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A/N: Getting closer…. hehehe :)

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Chapter 30: Press Conference

The chair squeaked across the lino as it was pushed back against the wall. Erica took her empty plate into the kitchenette and dumped it in the sink; she was too keyed up to sit still for long. She had thought that she'd be picking at her food too, but once she sat down with a full plate in front of her, she had eaten it all without any qualms at all, in fact, concentrating on eating helped her to avoid thinking about later. She hadn't had much to say to Peter or Mary-Jane; the two had exchanged glances over her head, worry in their eyes, but had left her to herself.

"I've got a few things to clear up; I'll mix up some more web-fluid too. Give me your empties. Uh, I'll try not to be too long." 

"Eh? Oh, sure.." She fumbled at her sleeves and under her shirt at her belt for a moment, then handed over a few empty cartridges; she had got to know by feel which ones still contained web fluid. Peter grunted his thanks and left the room, closing his bedroom door behind him. Erica was already back to staring out the window, mug in hand, containing the dregs of her tea that she was pretending to drink. Picking it off the bench subconsciously gave her hands something to keep them occupied as she thought.

"Well, aren't we just the cheeriest bunch this afternoon?" MJ got up as well, found the remote and turned the TV on, then plumped down onto the couch to watch. 

Erica stood in the kitchen, leaning on the bench. She could feel a churning in her stomach, like having butterflies, only higher powered. Glancing over to where MJ sat watching TV, seeming bored and acting unconcerned, she felt the tremor in her stomach wobble, then settle high up under her rib cage. It would serve as a reminder, as if she needed it, of what was at stake this afternoon. Even with the special foam she wasn't sure she'd be able to get the better of Ock - it wasn't as if he stayed static, unchanging, while Spider-Man leapt and bounded ahead with what he had learnt from their encounters. No, he would be more cunning in his fighting, vicious, and with no scruples to hold him back, as had Peter, or herself. But it wasn't only subduing Ock that had her worried; what of the virus? If she wasn't able to discover exactly how he was releasing it and stop that from happening, then would she be as responsible for the resulting mayhem as Dr Octopus himself? No! She would not let Ock win, not if she could help it. 

A sharp crack, followed by a crash of china brought Erica out of her introspection. Startled, she looked down at the floor; broken bits from the mug she had been holding were scattered at her feet; she had tightened her grip on the cup without thinking, and had smashed it. She looked up guiltily, hoping Mary-Jane hadn't noticed, but she was too absorbed in the screen in front of her. Crouching down, she quickly swept up the pieces with her hand and deposited them in the rubbish, noting the irony as she did so; the mug had been the one emblazoned with 'Don't Worry, Be Happy'. As she stood up again, Erica hoped that it wasn't an omen…

Something must have registered with MJ, because she was looking in Erica's direction.

"It's worse than a dentist's waiting room isn't it?" Mary-Jane gave a little chuckle and turned the sound on the TV off as Erica came over and sat down next to her. "So, nervous?"

"Nah, but I think terror is shoving the nervousness away. She'll be right - I keep telling myself that anyway." 

Erica smiled and relaxed into the soft cushions and the old blanket she had draped over them. MJ shifted her weight so that she faced her squarely.

"You don't have to do this you know, fight Dr Octopus. You could disable his device and skip out, leave the rest to the police. You don't have to endanger yourself, you really don't."

Erica lowered her eyes - was this some kind of test?

"I do. I've got this far, I can't back out now I've committed. Besides, I don't think Ock would let me get away with it - he'd chase Spider-Man for sure. He'd be a wee bit pissed off." She closed her eyes, rubbed them, "Ah, I just want it over and done with - what's the time?"

MJ snapped the TV off, exasperated. "I don't know why _you_ should feel that way, I don't understand it at all."

"Maybe Pete and I are more similar than you think, even given our different backgrounds. It happens," she shrugged.

A snort was the only answer from the redhead as she stood up.

"In that case…" she mumbled, as she fished around through her large handbag for something. It was her cell phone. "…I'd better postpone my manicure appointment before we go."

"What?" 

MJ laughed, "Only kidding," and dropped the phone back into her bag after glancing at it. "It's after one. What time is this thing again?" 

"We'd better get going soon then…" Erica did not sound enthusiastic. Briefly and stupidly she wondered if it was any better knowing you had a fight like this coming, or to have one spring on you unawares.

Mary-Jane went over and knocked on the bedroom door.

"Peter, you finished in there?"

"Hang on a sec," he called out, "Nearly done." True to his word, it was only a short while later that he opened the door and emerged to face Mary-Jane and Erica. 

It was all only a matter of slotting the refilled cartridges into her belt, then, at Peter's insistence, running a check on the webshooters, making sure they were operating as smoothly as they should, before they were ready to set out. At the same time, Peter checked his camera bag, familiarising MJ again with the operation of his SLR camera, in particular, how to change the film. She nodded impatiently - Erica stifled a smile; MJ had evidently had to do this sort of thing before in the past, not too surprisingly, even if she was usually in front of the lens, not behind it. 

At last they left - MJ with the camera bag slung over her shoulder, Peter carrying only his keys, and Erica bringing up the rear. She paused on the threshold of the apartment, looking back in at the surroundings that were her home here, conscious of Peter waiting for her so he could lock the door, but wanting to believe that she would still be coming back , in one piece and alive, later. She gazed at the worn but tidy interior that had a lived-in look but didn't reveal too much in the way of personality in its furnishings or ornaments; somewhat like its owner, she thought. The owner touched her on the arm.

"C'mon," he said quietly, "It will still be here when you get back."

Thankful for his assumption that she was worried about his flat, not herself, Erica sighed and watched and waited with MJ beside the lift while Peter locked the door. He seemed very confident. Erica narrowed her eyes. Was it an act, or was it the result of so many years crime-fighting that he himself had trouble distinguishing between actual confidence and its counterpart bravado? Well, it didn't really matter; she was the one who was in the position to need both confidence and bravado today - she'd need them.

…………………………………………………………………..

The gleaming entrance of the Student services building rose up before them like the antithesis of the narrow, dark and dank tunnel of Dr Octopus that Erica had described. The tall structure, light streaming in, was airy and large, and the large expanse of floor was a hard-wearing gray marble tile. Glossy white and eau-de-nil painted surfaces seemed dull beside the stainless steel balcony and stair railings which shone so intensely with the sun that it hurt to look directly at them, and if you were unfortunate enough to do so by mistake, black spots obscured your vision for quite a number of seconds after. 

Everything gave the impression of being new and modern and expensive, aimed at impressing perhaps not the students whom the building was designed to function for, but their parents and any other influential alumni and patrons who the University might possibly impress enough to give up their money.

This afternoon the central atrium, rising up three stories through the centre of the building, was closed off to students. Mary-Jane noted that even though they were early for the announcement the place was still buzzing with people. Others had had the same idea - there were few seat set up, and the competition for them could get fraught later. 

They passed a couple of screens that normally acted as bulletin boards, but were now in use to display posters of Otto Octavius with a brief bio and a description of his contributions to science. A small table nearby had the same information as a broad sheet.

They paused by the boards to read. 

"Look at this," Peter snorted in disgust, "If I didn't know better, I'd suspect Jameson wrote this - the truth has been distorted that much. '…although in the past maligned by the press and even serving time in prison for unwitting complicity in crimes, Dr Octavius has retained a positive outlook, and has worked tirelessly in his chosen fields for the benefit of all.' Bah, there's so much spin on this, it's a wonder it doesn't go into orbit."

MJ slid her arm around her husband's waist, giggling.

"I can imagine him in space with his tentacles, like a strange satellite." 

Peter twisted slightly under her arm, to smile at her in happiness and surprise; she smiled back, wondering if his love was as transparent to others as it was to her. She glanced back at Erica beside them. She was standing a few feet away, perusing the poster with a blank look on her face, far away. She drew her brows together in brief concentration as she continued standing. Mary-Jane wasn't certain whether she was actually reading or thinking about something else entirely; already she seemed distant, as if she was no longer Erica Stirling the woman from New Zealand, but the crime fighter with a serious, unpleasant problem to solve, running through different strategies in her mind to achieve her goals. Erica looked at them, unseeing, her eyes reflecting like the stainless steel about them.

A tug at her arm brought MJ's attention back to Peter; he was wanting to walk around the space, to look for good vantage points for photography while he still had the chance. Leaving Erica to her contemplation, they moved towards the front of the area, where a small dais had been set up, with a couple of chairs and a lectern with a microphone attached. A giant-sized screen loomed behind the lectern, hanging from the third floor balcony; a movie screen, ready to display images, but of what? 

Curious, MJ turned around, pivoting slowly while looking for the projector; she was half aware of several pairs of eyes on her - the place was filling up fast - but she was used to being looked at, and didn't give them a second thought.

Instead, aware that Peter had moved away from her in his search, she was about to follow him, when she spotted the projection device stuck up on a make-shift ledge just beneath the second floor balcony opposite. It was an old-fashioned slide projector, the sort with a carousel that perched on top. Mary-Jane was momentarily taken aback; she had expected that with the new building and all the modern high-tech stuff about, that any images would be projected using a computer or some such.

Giving a little mental shrug, she found Peter just as he found a spot to the side he was happy with. They would have to stand; this gave a better view of the podium and the speaker above those sitting. Numerous other media people had congregated behind the chairs, with a few even down in the front row, eager to get a close-up and the up-close experience of Dr Octopus - it wasn't every day you got to cover a story about a man with extra mechanical arms coming from his side after all. 

MJ remembered Erica; where was she? She looked over to the boards where she had last seen her, but she was no longer there, and scanning the crowds, MJ couldn't spot her in amongst them either. Maybe she had already left to switch into her Spider-Man duds, though it was still possibly premature - there were sure to be speeches from official university types before Doc Ock made his appearance…

"Have you seen Erica?" Mary-Jane asked Peter softly, hoping he'd know. 

He hadn't. He seemed concerned as he also peered through the crowd and around the interior looking for her. 

"I guess she knows what she's doing," he said eventually. He gave a low chuckle devoid of humour, "She's probably planning to make a spectacular entrance, like I used to. Now, of course, all my spectacular entrances are unplanned."

Mary-Jane scrutinised his face; he sounded bitter and somehow unlike Peter. She wondered what was behind his statement. Jealousy? Regret? Worry? As she distractedly looked round the crowd again, she started to recognise a few people, public figures mostly, here for the reflected kudos of attending such an important announcement. MJ put a smile on her face and tossed her hair back, as she in turn was recognised. Peter had lifted his camera from its bag and was holding it awkwardly, one-handedly, taking a few shots of the scene before the start of the proceedings. He groaned, lowering his camera. 

"Well, I suppose he had to be here - most of his club cronies are…"

MJ, looking in the same direction as Peter, saw the object of his discomfort: J. Jonah Jameson, looking eerily like a hyena, as he advanced towards them.

"I might have guessed," she said with a grin, "What's the bet he's hoping Spider-Man will show up?"

"Bets are off," Peter replied tersely as Jameson neared.

"Parker!" bellowed Jameson in a genial manner, "Just who I was looking for. I wanted one of my best photogs here today, glad to see a little scratch hasn't put you off. I've got this feeling this is going to be one Big news item, so I'm covering it myself. You take the photos, I'll write the article - if this comes off as I expect, I'll even give you a raise."

JJJ beamed and tucked his thumbs behind the lapels of his jacket, as he rocked heel-to-toe in pleasure and anticipation at the forthcoming spectacle.

"You're all heart," said Peter, knowing full well that a raise from Jonah would be the lowest he could possibly get away with.

"That's me; more generous than is good for me. And how's the lovely wife?" he said, turning to MJ.

Mary-Jane smiled. She felt almost fond of Old Jonah. He was so predictable.

"The lovely wife is fine."

"Good, good. I'll go get my reserved seat. No skipping out when the speeches start, Parker," he warned Peter before he left.

"I won't, Jameson," he promised. Sighing, he looked at his - Erica's - watch; it was almost two p.m., time for it to start.

Reaching down for the camera bag, MJ removed several rolls of unexposed film and put them in her jacket pocket; she knew that once the shoot started, she had to be ready.

There was a noise from the podium. A thin man in an out-dated suit had stepped up to the mike and was starting to speak in a strong carrying voice.

"Uh, Ladies and Gentlemen of the Press, invited guests and others. Welcome to Empire State University. I'm Michael Fantham, head of the Bio Sciences faculty…"

A hush descended on the crowd. Peter held his camera in readiness. MJ leaned over and whispered, "Ready when you are, Tiger."

He didn't reply or even look in her direction; MJ could see how tensed up he was, waiting, waiting. Another quick glance around while Fantham continued with his introductory remarks revealed a couple of uniformed policemen at the edge of the crowd, and another one behind the podium. No doubt others were around, hidden until needed. MJ hoped that Dr. Octopus wouldn't get the wind up him if he noticed them too, but perhaps with the Police Commissioner in the audience, he'd take their presence to be mere honor guard duty. She also briefly wondered why Dr. Whithead was not up on the rostrum as well, sharing in the discovery.

"…and so without further ado, I now introduce Dr. Otto Octavius."

Polite clapping broke out as Fantham sat down. From a door off to the side of the podium came a thick-set man of slightly below average height, with straight brown hair, greying at the temples, and thick-set glasses to go with his build. He was dressed in a suit with a natty double-breasted jacket, but this wasn't what got the attention of the audience; emerging from the sides of his jacket, were four mechanical 'arms', shiny, smooth and sinuous, they gave an air of sinister purpose to his appearance. 

However, as Dr. Octavius climbed up to stand behind the lectern, he was smiling in a manner that was not at all sinister. Open and jovial, his smile only showed his acknowledgement at his welcome. The whirr and pop of many cameras sounded as he nodded to his audience, and waited for the clapping to die down. 

Mary-Jane was put into uncertainty - he didn't look mad. And when he started his speech, he spoke in a confident manner that betrayed not a hint of insanity. Had he, in fact, reformed and were the notes and evidence Erica retrieved an attempt to frame him by Dr. Whithead? Confused, MJ glanced at Peter beside her. He had just finished taking a pic of him, and noticed MJ's eye on him. He leant over.

"He's plausible. I've a feeling this is not going to go well for Erica…" Peter shifted uneasily on his feet.

"…I know you're not here to hear all the dry scientific facts, so I won't bore you with a step-by-step breakdown of my findings. I have isolated the pertinent details and now I present them to you on this screen." 

Dr. Octavius waved one of his 'arms' at the screen behind him. With his real arm, he lifted a small remote, and pressed a button. Nothing happened. He frowned and pressed again with the same result. Half-turning to Fantham sitting next to him, he had a few quiet words with him. Fantham's face paled, and he hurriedly left the rostrum and disappeared through the same door Octavius had entered earlier. Octavius tried his remote again, with no luck. He smiled at those assembled in front of him, but this smile was no longer pleasant. 

"We seem to be having a small problem with the equipment," he said in annoyance, his tentacles stirring with suppressed emotion.

"Don't you just hate that?" a voice called out.

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	31. Hounded Innocence

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A/N: Hold on to your webs, Spidey fans! It's Spidey vs. Doc Ock! 

(shameless stealing from Stan Lee here… :) ) 

__

#cliff-hanger alert#

Don't be too annoyed - it was the best way to break it into a manageable chapter.

Many thanks for the reviews, Appreciative reader & reandn - I'm working my methodic way to the end!

Cheers,

Apteryx

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Chapter 31: Hounded Innocence.

At first, Mary-Jane thought it was someone in the audience trying to be funny, then, at about the same time as Dr. Octopus and many others, she realised that the sound had come from above and behind them. She twisted around to look. There, perched high on the railing of the third floor walkway, was Spider-Man. Or rather, a Spider-Man impersonator, though nobody else besides Peter and herself knew it. 

"Spider-Man!" exclaimed Octavius into the microphone, drowning out the voices and gasps of those present. "You've interfered with my plans for the last time!"

"Good to hear. Does this mean you're giving yourself up?"

Octavius gave a hostile glare in the wall-crawler's direction, before gaining control over his rage and facing his audience again.

"See," he said, modulating his voice persuadingly, "See how the innocent are hounded. I come to you today to announce my legitimate scientific breakthrough, and I am hounded, nay, persecuted by this vigilante Spider-Man."

"I've always said he's a menace…" interrupted Jameson.

Octavius ignored him.

"See," he continued, raising his voice and pointing at the second floor balcony, his tentacles now swirling at his side, "See how he has vandalised my equipment, just to gratify his own petty little vendetta!"

Heads turned, and Mary-Jane saw that the slide projector she had noticed earlier was now completely swathed in webbing, so much so, that you couldn't discern the original shape of the appliance within.

"So _that's_ how…" muttered Peter beside her, snapping away furiously. 

The press would be having a field day, Mary-Jane thought, Jameson's in his real element here… She also noticed that the audience seemed divided in their loyalties; some were doubtful, treating Dr. Octopus's words seriously, with Jameson's ranting confusing things more. Glancing up at Spidey silently watching and waiting, and back to Doctor Octopus, MJ wondered who was going to make the first move.

Now that the crowd were in turmoil, Octavius upped the ante. 

"The time has come," he said, still ignoring Spidey, "to deal with this once and for all. Scientific progress must not be stopped by Criminals!"

Above the mixed tumult of voices, clapping, and hissing, Spidey's voice rang out. 

"I agree, Ock. That's why I'm here to stop _you_! You're still a criminal, and I've proof of it."

"Insolent Spider!" hissed Dr. Octopus, his attention now totally focused on his old foe above him. He didn't notice the arrival at the edges of the crowd of a squadron of NYPD officers. "You're bluffing, speaking through a hole in your tiny little webbed head as usual. Trying to make me look bad." He was still trying to hold his temper, hold on to the sympathy of his audience.

"I don't need to make you look bad; you can do that adequately yourself," Spidey replied, "And as for proof - I've had a little talk with a certain Dr Whithead…"

Octavius looked momentarily taken aback, then he recovered and smiled, more a sneer than a smile. "Well, isn't that too bad?" he said, "My esteemed colleague Dr Whithead, met with an unfortunate accident this morning and is no able to join us."

Mary-Jane gasped at the implications; Peter was looking very grim as he heard that last statement, and she guessed that the news affected him the same as it had her, maybe more, though possibly not as much as it had Erica. MJ tilted her head to observe Spidey's reaction.

Spidey was very still; a pause that resounded throughout the open spaces of the atrium. Then, with a sudden fluid movement, Spidey stood upright on the rounded metal of the railing, balancing there with no apparent effort as she said enigmatically, "Time to clear out _now_!"

Several things happened at once, so fast that MJ had trouble sorting it all out. Police poured in from the sides and began forcibly herding the audience towards the main entrance. Spidey shot off a line of webbing and swung down directly towards Dr. Octopus, with people below her line of travel scrambling out of the way, some screaming, some in panic, adding to the confusion already caused by the NYPD's methodical but unexpected evacuation procedures. Octavius stayed on the rostrum, sheltering his body behind the lectern, but letting his mechanical arms spring out and stretch rapidly towards the approaching red-and-blue figure.

Out of the corner of her eye, before she got swamped by part of the audience and separated from Peter, Mary-Jane spied Jameson remonstrating with a couple of policemen, who were having to remove him physically from the scene, and he wasn't the only one who was causing New York's finest trouble - some of the other media personnel thought they should stay to cover the breaking news as well. 

MJ dropped to the floor and trailing the camera bag behind her, began crawling along behind a row of chairs, some still upright, aiming to reach the other side of the atrium. She had some sort of unformed idea about hiding somewhere, to witness the unfolding battle, and maybe help Spidey if she could. She had to stop and curl up next to a chair twice as people ran past, still trying to escape from the chaos. 

Eventually she reached the bulletin boards; the table had been knocked over, and one of the boards had fallen and was resting at an angle over the side of the table's legs. Mary-Jane crawled into the space and peeked around the corner of the board back to the podium. 

Spidey had let go of the web and flipped herself dextrously out of the way of Ock's oncoming tentacles, landing in a crouch a short distance away, then immediately leaping up again as they came striking at her. They hit the floor where she had been only moments before with such force, that the marble was shattered. 

Mary-Jane turned away and looked around the area, seeing that almost all the audience had now been removed by the police, who were now helping the final few out, leaving the wide open space free for the two combatants. Peter was nowhere in sight - he must have been evacuated with the rest. MJ almost chuckled, imagining Jolly Jonah hassling Peter for not staying inside and photographing the battle. She turned her head again to view how Spidey was getting on against Dr. Octopus.

Spidey was doing very well to avoid Doc Ock's tentacles so far; the lectern that was protecting Ock's body from Spidey's attack was also limiting slightly the manoeuvrability of his arms, so that Spidey was able to leap and dodge with alacrity, gripping on to the square marble-faced pillars supporting the walkways, and leaping off sideways onto a walkway itself, twisting and turning in such a way that Ock's tentacles, following her movements, became momentarily tangled in the stainless steel railings and supports. 

From her viewpoint where she crouched, MJ could see Spidey taking the small opportunity granted to lean back against a pillar out of Octavius's sight and change web-cartridges. Of course, the special foam! Mary-Jane frowned. A problem that she was sure Spidey had figured out a while ago occurred to her suddenly; that same lectern that benefited both Ock and Spidey, also prevented Spidey from using the foam. Not only that, but she'd have to make sure all four tentacles were in the same place long enough to deploy it 

With a roar, Ock pulled his tentacles free from the railings, bringing down sections of steel tubing and concrete, exposing wire and leaving a shattered gap. Spidey hopped onto a section of the railing still intact and tut-tutted, "You'll have to make up for that out of your wages, you know." And as the tentacles came for her again, she performed a powerful handspring off the railing and upwards, leading with her outstretched feet up over the railing on the third floor to land upright on the walkway. Fortuitously, this was out of the reach of the Doc's arms, as long as he stayed where he was. 

As he tried in vain to reach Spidey, she got in a little taunting, hoping no doubt to draw him out. 

"'Reach for the sky!' No, no, that's not right, even if you are a cowboy. Howsabout 'irritable reaching after fact and reason?' No? Well I can't call you Stretch; a Reed Richards you ain't."

Octavius started using his tentacles to bash at one of the pillars supporting the two levels of walkways.

"I don't know what you hope to achieve by that; even if you bring these floors down, I can still stay out of your reach…"

"Not for long," replied Doc Ock, desisting, "Haven't I shown proof to you before this I can go wherever you can?"

"Yeah, well proof is not always what it seems, as you so kindly pointed out to me earlier. I don't believe you."

"Fool." Octavius retracted his arms and brought them down with a crash upon the lectern, sending splinters of wood flying through the air, then with a rapid movement, he braced two of his tentacles against the floor and telescoped them out, propelling his body upwards, at the same time extending the other two towards the walkway where Spidey stood. 

"Oopsy," she muttered, as she did a massive flip across and over Dr. Octopus and landed facing down on the internal windows of the administration offices opposite. Just below her was the top of the large screen. She grabbed the pole that kept the top of the screen rigid, and as Octavius reached her 'walking' on all four of his arms, she quickly flipped off the windows and over Ock again, this time trailing the screen, twisting it and letting it go before she reached the ground, so that it covered Ock and hampered him, blinding him and causing him to flounder into the windows, smashing them. 

It didn't take Ock long at all to untangle himself from the wreckage, but it was long enough for Spidey to leap towards him, obviously intending to administer a huge punch to his head and knock him senseless. Mary-Jane cheered silently from behind her barricade. 'Really,' she thought, 'Spidey is remarkable.' It was the first time she had seen Erica as Spider-Man in action, and she was taken afresh with just how incredible the Spider-powers were; when they were part of Pete, who she had known for years, she had taken them, if not exactly for granted, then pretty close to it. She had thought they were cool, apart from the unfortunate side effect of being a magnet for every nut-case super-powered villain to hit New York City. Or was it the other way round…

In the meantime, Ock managed to bring one of his tentacles speeding across straight for Spidey to intercept her path of travel. She impossibly twisted her body in mid-flight to avoid being hit, and therefore lost her chance to bring Ock down. Landing on the floor, she quickly bounced then dived through two of the tentacles as they converged, ducking under yet another.

The two foes were now in an area to the right of the podium that was clear of the debris of the sudden evacuation; there were no obstacles to get in between Octavius's arms and Spidey. 

"Now you get to see why Dr Octopus is your master!" Ock raved.

"Still the same aren't you Ocky; completely unspoiled by failure," quipped Spidey as she rolled then leapt out of the way of a tentacle or two that barely missed her moving form. Two more whipped down which she avoided by grabbing hold of one and swinging around it and over the next, like a gymnast on a set of parallel bars if a gymnast ever had to cope with the bars coming to life like large snakes... 

"I've read about you on jam tins!" Side-slipping, Spidey sprung back into the jumble of chairs, and rapidly started picking them up and tossing them in a constant stream at Dr. Octopus. He stood there, almost casually swatting them aside with his tentacles, a big sneer on his face.

"Is that the best you can do?" he said, "And yet…" he added thoughtfully as he watched the web-slinger.

"Heck no, this is just for starters." Spidey blithely kept throwing chairs.

MJ wondered what Spidey was up to; chairs wouldn't slow Ock down. Perhaps she was waiting for a conjunction of arms. Mary-Jane was worried though about Doc Ock's speculative expression - that couldn't bode well for Spidey…

"Enough!" Octavius suddenly roared, and moving forward, he feinted with two of his appendages, throwing a couple of chairs back to Spidey, and while she was averting them, lashed out with the remaining two arms at full speed. 

The first tentacle wapped into Spidey's right side as she had an arm up to deflect a chair. There was a dull thud at the impact, and she immediately crumpled over. Mary-Jane winced at the sound and sight of Spidey kneeling curled up on the floor, head lowered, one arm held protectively to her side and the other barely supporting her body off the surface. It must be her already broken rib, thought MJ in distress. 

Doc Ock looked surprised at the ease at which his blow had halted his foe, "What is this? You'll not get me by play-acting this time!"

Mary-Jane could see Spidey struggling to recover.

"Fat show, you scungy polyp," she gasped.

Just as she raised her head and was slowly starting to pick herself up, Ock followed through his first blow, and with the other tentacle, struck her on the head. Spidey was thrown back through the chairs, sliding along the marble floor to come to rest, head lolling and limbs spread out with a laxness that indicated obviously, and very much so, unconsciousness. 

Mary-Jane involuntary let out an audible groan; luckily, Dr Octopus was too involved with his enemy to notice. MJ nibbled at her fingers, anxious for Erica, and mad keen to help her in some way, but how? 

Octavius had used his mechanical arms to lift Spidey's body out of the wreckage and bring it closer to him. He inspected her dangling form briefly but intently before giving a startled exclamation.

"A woman!" Another arm darted out and quickly removed her mask, revealing Erica's face.

"I was right!" he exclaimed again, peering at the unfamiliar woman he held. "I knew there was something not quite right about 'Spider-Man', something different in his movement and manner of speech. When you've got to know your enemy as thoroughly as I've got to know Spider-Man, you can't be fooled by an impostor, though it's been attempted in the past. So, I see that part of my scheme succeeded. But who is this woman? And where is the _real_ Spider-Man?"

………………………………………………………….

"Right here, Ocky!" And as Octavius turned to the source of the voice in astonishment, a powerful crimson-clad fist shot out and punched him in the cheekbone.

"No!" whispered MJ from her hideout, her hands up to her face. "No, Peter, not you too…"

Dr. Octopus stumbled back with the force of the blow, but somehow stayed conscious. He threw Erica's body off to the side, a piece of detested detritus, where it skidded through and under the bunting that was draped around the edge of the make-shift podium, and was forgotten about.

"You!" Octavius said, not quite believing his senses, "I'd know your voice anywhere. Daring to tackle me yourself, now that I've disposed of your minion?"

Spider-Man, taking the advantage while Ock was still disconcerted by the first blow, came in quickly with another left hook, but, partially blocked by Ock's tentacles, only managed to connect with Octavius's left shoulder. There was a howl from Doc Ock, and he gripped at his shoulder with his right hand, as his left arm went limp; dislocated, MJ guessed, but how was Peter able to deliver a punch like that without his spider-powers? Then she remembered the red ribbon of the Untongued, and the formula that Pete and Dr. Connor had made up. Oh no…

Although one of his flesh-and-bone arms was out of action, Dr. Octopus's artificial ones had no such disability. With a quickness that Spider-Man could not avoid in his powerless state, Ock's tentacles had him pinned and helpless. Octavius leant forward, closer to Spider-Man, his face distorted with pain and hate. 

"So," he said, quietly, with a quiver in his voice that deeply worried MJ, "The 'real' Spider-Man is helpless. By rights I should kill you here and now. You know I'm not the sadistic sort normally – when I kill people I make sure the job is done quickly and efficiently. But you, you're a special case. For all the pain and disruption you've given me over the years, I ought to return the favour eightfold."

Spider-Man laughed bitterly. "You don't think you have already? Besides, without me, you'd cease to exist; you'd no longer have the raison d'être…"

"Don't speak such drivel. I have plenty of plans formulated to occupy myself. You are trying to talk up your importance to me – trying to buy yourself time, I think."

"Oh yeah? Then why did you try to get rid of me before I was even aware you were planning something? Admit it Ock – you're becoming paranoid in your old age, else you're developing another Spider-Man phobia!"

"Never! I will never fear you again. I defeated you too many times to count, and this will be the last…"

"Then why are you dwelling on it? Why don't you finish me off right now?"

Octavius growled. "You think I can't?"

Mary-Jane frowned. Here was her husband, a powerless captive, and yet he was goading Doctor Octopus almost as if he were welcoming his own death. He must have some idea what he was doing. MJ shoved her hands in her pockets to stop he biting them again. She was afraid for Peter. If Doc Ock really meant to kill him, she didn't want to witness her own husband's murder, what could she do to stop it? Her hands closed around the spare rolls of film - the very least she could do was throw the canisters as a diversion, hope that that would help somehow…

Octavius stood back and bared his teeth in a grimace as he tightly gripped Spider-Man's limbs in each tentacle. 

"You think I can't?" he repeated, raising his voice until he was shouting, "I will tear you apart _immediately!_"

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	32. Voices and Laughter

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A/N: Sorry I've taken so long to post this chapter – computer problems… sigh.

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Oooo, don't you just love Dr Octopus? Heh. He is so pompous, and such fun to write! Never mind Doc Ock, What about Spidey? What about Spider-Man? 

Read on…

Cheers,

Apteryx

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Chapter 32: Voices and laughter.

It was dim where she lay, she knew, and she could feel the chill of the hard floor beneath her cheekbone.

'Aerrrgh.' Erica groaned. How long had she been passed out on the ground like that? She really ought to get up, or at least open her eyes, but the effort involved seemed like too much. It was much easier to lie here, make-believe she was still asleep. Almost drifting off again, the sound of voices filtered through to her consciousness. Voices? But who could that be? She wondered if her neighbours had noticed her garage door open and had come to investigate, and found her there senseless. Still with her eyes shut, and otherwise showing no sign that she had recovered consciousness, Erica listened to the voices, her confused brain trying to process the sounds and turn them into language. Snippets, small phrases, and then segments of sentences began to bring themselves to the forefront of her mind, but she still couldn't make much sense of them…

__

"…you'd cease to exist; you'd no longer have the raison d'être…"

Strange. Were they speaking of her? 

__

"…trying to buy yourself time, I think..."

Confusing still, but she almost felt she should know… something she _should_ know…

__

"…you're becoming paranoid in your old age, else you're developing another Spider-Man phobia!"

Spider-Man!

Suddenly, Erica was confused no longer.

Erica opened her eyes, and listening to the voices, she figured out that for some reason Peter had returned as Spider-Man and confronted Dr Octopus after she had been knocked out, but was now in deep shit as Ock's captive. 

__

"Why don't you finish me off right now?"

"You think I can't?"

Oh Lord no… 

Desperately Erica tried to get up, but the pain in her side made her head swim as she moved. Little sparks zipped across her vision as she fought off unconsciousness again. Gritting her teeth, and using only her left arm and her legs, she slowly commando crawled toward the red-white-and-blue bunting that separated her from Peter and Ock. She was determined to stop Doc Ock from killing Peter, even if it meant taking more punishment from him – after all, hadn't Peter suffered heaps more in the past than she had just then, and survived?

She reached the edge of the bunting and had just lifted up the fabric to poke her head out when she heard Doc Ock shout: 

__

"I will tear you apart** immediately!**"

Move! She told herself urgently, but her body refused to co-operate more than it was doing at the moment. 

Erica could only watch in horror as Dr. Octavius tightened his grip on Peter's arms and legs…

Then, amazingly, help arrived. 

Erica watched the extraneous figure costumed in yellow and white, dart in towards Octopus on some sort of flying disc. It was a man, tall and thick set, whether from muscle development or fat, she couldn't tell. His face was obscured by a yellow helmet that was almost Minoan in appearance; long nose and cheek guards, with holes cut out for the eyes. He was wearing a form-fitting yellow bodysuit and gloves, and yellow boots with greaves; over the top was a tunic, white, with a yellow star-burst emblazoned on the front, gathered in with a utility belt, also in yellow.

Even in the intense situation they were all in, Erica couldn't help thinking irrelevantly he looked like a poached egg. She shuddered and despite the man's comical appearance, felt a shiver of unease wash over her skin.

The disc zoomed closer, gaining the attention of Dr Octavius, who raised his head and tsked in annoyance at the interruption, as if he and Spider-Man had been having a quiet tête-à-tête over a afternoon tea. Although Erica had never seen this character before, it was plain that both Ock and Spider-Man had.

"What now?" asked Ock rhetorically, irritated.

Spider-Man only muttered under his breath, "Oh, crap."

The new-comer brandished a gun-like device in his hand, "I've come to carry out the terms of my commission; I will not be thought dilatory," he said pompously.

I know that voice, thought Erica, shivering at the sound of it. But why isn't my spider-sense going off? 

Before Doc Ock could react, the gun was aimed and fired. There was a clattering sound, and at the same time, a small, sudden, bright burst of light shot out, then dispersed out in waves, with Spider-Man at its epicentre. Erica experienced what felt like a rush of blood or sudden jolt of adrenaline to the head, which spread through the rest of her body before reaching her toes and fingertips and disappearing. What was that all about? She had never seen light act in that fashion before, but that, plus the weird sensation she just had, that voice, the reactions of the other two, led her to believe she was seeing 'Ray-man' in action. But how had it affected Peter? Erica lifted her head again and saw that he was lying limp in Doctor Octopus's arms; was he unconscious or... or dead?

'Ray-man' came right in close to Doc Ock, evidently curious to see what sort of effect his device had had on Spider-Man also. 

Octavius was furious. "Actino, you bumbling fool!" he shouted, "Now is not the time. You've arrived too late, you should have stayed away. You've cheated me on my revenge, something I had dreamed about for years, and now it's in ruins thanks to you. _I_ should have been the end of Spider-Man! Me! Not some Wagnerian nincompoop!" 

Erica watched, as Octopus threw Spider-Man aside and faced 'Ray-man', who amazingly had had the sense to move back during the ranting. The ranting continued.

"You incompetent alchemist, you flawed lump of heliotrope…"

'I must do something, must see to Peter; now's my only chance with Ock otherwise engaged…' thought Erica. She'd keep to the edge of the podium, and crawl behind Octavius to where Peter had landed, in a sagged heap on the marble. As quickly as she could, she started her crawling again, inching along and keeping one eye on the raving lunatic. He was waving his tentacles about threateningly, but wasn't trying to connect with 'Ray-man', mostly, Erica guessed, because of the strange gun. 

As she crawled, she spied a bright red object up ahead of her; her mask. She gained it and paused to quickly pull it over her head; although Ock had exposed her face, there had been no other witnesses to the revelation, but now that another player had come on the scene, she felt more comfortable concealing it. 

Finally she reached Peter's still form. Ock was still carrying on, and feinting with his arms now and again. Being cheated of having his way with Spider-Man must have really tipped him over the edge, thought Erica, as she lifted one of Peter's hands and tried to feel for a pulse. Damn costume – the web-shooters made it impossible. Erica couldn't see Peter's chest from the angle he was lying; she inched over to his head and carefully peeled the mask away from his mouth and nose and tilted her head as she lay next to him, so that she could use her ear and cheek to tell whether he was still breathing, just as she had been taught in first-aid classes years ago.

"This is not the moment to be murmuring sweet nothings into your ear…" came a whisper.

It was all Erica could do to stop herself from yelping out loud in surprise. 

"Peter!" she whispered back elated, "You're alive!"

He used his left hand to pull his mask back down, "Not only that," he agreed, "but I've got my powers back too."

"What? How? How can you tell?"

"Spider-sense. After ol' 'Ray-man' zapped me one, my spidey-sense went wild. I've been playing possum for a bit to recover. What about you though – how are you?"

"Broken ribs, but otherwise fine."

"But what about…?"

"Spider-powers? I dunno. That ray did something to me too, I don't know what yet." Erica, who was facing the right direction as she lay on the floor, looked across to where Ock was now taunting the figure on the disc-flyer. "We still have to stop him…"

"I'll do that."

"Your arm?"

"I…"

They were interrupted by a roar from Ock; he had finally got tired of playing with 'Ray-man', and had swiped at his gun with a tentacle, sending the gun flipping over and over in an arc across the large space, before it landed out of sight behind the remains of the orderly seating. Before 'Ray-man' could move away on his disc, Ock had swiped him with another tentacle, a huge backhanded blow to the head that sent him reeling off his flyer and crashing to the ground, where he bounced twice and finished up in amongst a heap of toppled chairs. 

Octavius drew in his tentacles and walked over to the prone form, talking the while.

"I trust you are still alive; I have further plans for you – a little manipulation to start with, and you'll make an excellent scapegoat for me…"

"I have to do this now, go hide," whispered Peter to Erica, as he rolled up into a crouching position in one fluid motion. If Erica had required any proof that Peter had regained his powers, that small, graceful movement was all that was needed.

Hide? Erica didn't think she'd reach cover soon enough before Dr. Octopus would notice her. She'd have to bluff it, as Peter had done earlier. She still had something up her sleeve…

Carefully, she rolled over and began to pick herself up, as Spider-Man took a leap towards Ock while his back was turned to them. Surprisingly, her side didn't hurt as much as she expected; but she knew now from experience that the pain would return again later. She stood and gently flexed her muscles as she watched Spider-Man give Dr Octavius the shock of his life – if being robbed of his vengeance had sent Ock mad, then seeing Spider-Man alive once more, and having another chance at his revenge certainly would. Erica scooted across quietly, keeping as low down as she could, to the back of the atrium near the glass windows of the offices. She wanted to circle round as inconspicuously as possible to try and get in a position where she could release the web-foam; _could_ she release it? If Peter had got his powers back, she might not have the strength and speed any more to do that double-tap, and she couldn't try it out to see either… 

Behind one of the pillars now, she peeked out to see how Peter was coping with fighting Dr Octopus, and was astonished to see him in action; his injured arm did not seem to be hindering him at all, but Erica guessed it was an act - without the sling, that arm _had_ to be hurting. Even so, Spider-Man was back to his old form, perhaps even better, rebounding and springing away from the tentacles, pulling off incredible manoeuvres, avoiding coming close to being touched, yet taunting Ock in such a light-hearted manner that you would have thought he was only taking a bit of exercise.

"…can't keep a good spider down."

"I don't believe this. _The_ Spider-Man?"

"No, haven't you heard? We come in 6-packs."

All this time, they were slowly gaining the pillar Erica was behind. Spider-Man, dodging two tentacles coming at him diagonally from opposite directions, leapt up high to stick to the pillar. Simultaneously, another tentacle came hurtling down to where Erica was standing, as Doc Ock was about to use them to climb up after Spider-Man. 

Danger!

In less then a split second, Erica had leapt up and was clinging to the other side of the pillar from Spider-Man. With great astonishment, she realised she still had spider-powers, but how? No time to think of that now…

In an unintentional move that was bound to confuse the hell out of Doc Ock, both Spider-Man and Spidey jumped off the pillar and to the side at once. Spider-Man turned his head as he caught sight of Spidey, clearly surprised himself. She gave him the thumbs-up, and flipped aside as Ock sent a tentacle her way. Spider-Man started to laugh. The laughter continued as he back-flipped past Ock, getting him to turn in his direction. It built up as he noticed Ock's indecision and confusion, a joyous sound that clearly grated on Octavius. Especially when Spidey joined in as well. She couldn't help it, it was contagious, and she knew exactly why Peter was laughing; for once, fate had dealt him an unexpected bonus. As she and Spider-Man made their moves towards Ock, she thought she heard an echo of their laughter in the space surrounding them.

"What?" screamed Dr. Octopus, hugely disconcerted, "_What?_"

Without words, Spidey and Spider-Man acted together as a team to battle the maddened scientist. They seemed to be able to anticipate the other's moves so as not to get in each other's way; spider-sense helped here of course, but it was not only that. Spidey couldn't say what it was, it was like a meta-awareness, maybe it was even a new facet of her spider-sense, but she was enjoying it anyway.

Spidey darted in and out of Doc Ock's tentacles, like an annoying sandfly, while Spider-Man, taking his time, and almost leisurely bouncing out of the way, waited until he was able to grab the end of one of the tentacles and be pulled up by it, then, wrapping his legs around it, reached out and grabbed another tentacle and started pulling them together.

"No!" howled Octavius, "It isn't possible!"

He was obviously straining to pull them apart again, sweat beading on his forehead, but against Spider-Man's strength was helpless. Spidey, as she kept Ock's other tentacles occupied, was intrigued by the display of strength – she knew that Spider-Man had been lucky to tie Ock's tentacles in knots in the past, but that was usually only temporary; Ock had pulled them apart pretty quickly. But this time… 

"You'd better believe it!" said Spider-Man.

"What's the matter Ock?" mocked Spidey, "You're all hair-oil and no socks!"

This bought a fresh bout of laughter from Spider-Man. He had not only tied the two arms together, but was methodically snapping off the pincers from the ends.

"No!" wailed Ock.

He went to move his free tentacles to wallop Spider-Man off his perch, but Spidey was there, gripping on to one of them and using her strength to misdirect it. Spider-Man easily leapt off and avoided the other. Spidey passed the tentacle she was holding over to Spider-Man in mid-leap; he took it and as he touched the ground, looked for the other free one. Instead of using it to attack Spider-Man, Octopus was desperately trying to keep it out of his reach. He tried walking backwards, but almost lost his footing as he slipped on some small black objects scattered about the floor.

"You're all fur coat and no knickers." Spidey giggled; she knew they had Ock beaten now. 

Octavius had a look of horror on his face as he could see it too – if he kept that tentacle out of reach, he laid himself open to a direct blow from Spidey; if he used it to defend himself from Spidey, then Spider-Man would reach it and do the same to it as he had with the first two. He was in a bind.

Spidey leapt in towards Ock, performed a handspring and kicked out with a foot, aiming for his face. He panicked, brought his tentacle to grab her ankle, but it was no longer there. Instead Spider-Man had shot out his hand and stopped it dead in its tracks. Spidey almost laughed again at the expression on Doc Ock's face, as she stood upright again, but stopped and hesitated when she saw it change and become blank. What…? They didn't want to underestimate Ock.

"Hold still Ocky, while I tie up a few loose ends." Spider-Man completed his knot-tying, and stood back with a flourish. He had tied the remaining two tentacles in with the first knot, so that there was one tangled up mass of metal arms. Spidey moved forward with a glance at Spider-Man, and raised her arms, wrists uppermost.

Doctor Octopus, though he was evidently beaten, had regained enough of his composure to start sneering at the two Spider-heroes.

"Go on, use your pathetic webbing now, but don't think it will hold me once I get these knots undone, which I will!" 

It was true; Spidey could see that already the coils where starting to slowly slide along each other, looking more snake-like than ever.

Spidey smiled as she replied. "As you found out before, I'm a different kind of spider from our friend here, and I have other ways of constraining my prey…"

There was a hissing sound as Spidey released the contents from her web-shooters, and the blobs of sticky fluid enveloped the metal and began expanding rapidly into foam. Octavius jumped in surprise and stepped back, arms outstretched in front of him, as if to distance himself from the ballooning bubbles adhering to his mechanical arms. Then he relaxed.

"Bubbles! You think bubbles will stop me? Hahaha!"

But his laughter soon changed into perplexed screeches as he tried to loosen the knots, and found his tentacles stuck fast. He slumped, and sat, physically defeated, on the edge of the podium, looking as if some bizarre alien creature had spat him out and left him to stew in its phlegm. 

Spidey walked over to where Spider-Man was standing, leaning against a pillar and watching. She started to converse with him in a low voice, so as not to be overheard by Dr. Octopus, as she unobtrusively changed web-cartridges.

"We've done it! Should I take off now, and leave you to it?"

"The other way round, I think. Sergeant Hudson only knows you as Spider-Man; he's likely to twig something's not kosher if I talk to him…"

"Oh, right."

"Hey, you were extremely cool by the way. I was watching the whole thing."

"Thanks – you were too. Heh, I finally got to see the real Spider-Man in action!"

"You haven't done enough? Now you're conspiring more against me!" yelled Octavius from where he sat.

"Geez, talk about paranoid," said Spidey to Spider-Man, fed up with Ock's bombastic statements. "Which reminds me, how is 'Ray-man', or should we call him 'Actino' now?"

Without another word, Spider-Man ran over to where Actino lay. He was still in the same position he fell in, but on closer inspection, still not close enough to touch, Spider-Man could tell he was dead. He said so to Spidey as she came up behind him. She knew he'd seen innumerable dead bodies that he knew the look of one, but it was her first. She gazed at the staring eyes behind the helmet mask and felt her elation at defeating Doctor Octopus drain away, leaving a sour taste of bile in her throat; suddenly her ribs hurt. She turned her head abruptly – she didn't feel sick, merely hopeless. A hand gripped her shoulder in sympathy.

"Are you OK?"

"I've never seen a body before…"

"Aw, heck. I'm sorry. Look, at least it would have been clean and painless. I know that probably doesn't help you much, but it's all I can offer you. I won't say you get used to it, even if you do, because it's the last thing I'd wish on anybody. Every death is pointless."

"'Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind'…" she quoted.

"You've put it in words; that's exactly how I've felt, why I try to avoid killing, even those who have caused the death of countless others. I've seen too much – and the first was the worst."

"John Donne wrote that in 1624; a bit of useless trivia for you. I've got more for you too if you want." 

The hand on her shoulder gave a small squeeze and released its grip. Spidey took a deep breath and looked up at Spider-Man. 

"So… it's murder then. Will the police accept Spider-Man's word on it as a witness?"

"Well, you won't be able to testify in court, so I'm not…"

"Spider-Man!"

A female voice calling interrupted them. They both turned as a familiar figure came up to where they stood, eager yet uncertain of her welcome.

"Ma'am," responded Spider-Man. If Spidey hadn't known otherwise herself, she would have thought that these two had never met before, by their demeanours.

"I saw everything," Mary-Jane said, looking from one masked face to the other. Spidey thought MJ very acute; she knew, even if there was only one stranger about, that she couldn't risk exposing Spider-Man's real identity, and especially not when that one stranger happened to be Dr. Octopus, who could use the knowledge to devastating effect if he re-learnt it. 

Both Spider-heroes suddenly turned in unison to look towards the entrance of the atrium, then Spider-Man nodded to Mary-Jane in farewell, and ran off, behind the podium, and through a door. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Spidey noticed MJ turn to her again, but Spidey's main attention was on the couple of New York Police Department's officers who had entered and were slowly approaching, as if unsure of what they would find. She saw them relax their stance, remove hands from their pistols in holsters, as they spied Doc Ock sitting bundled up and trapped in a strange substance.

Spidey in turn, relaxed slightly as she saw it was Hudson and his partner Kysela. But not too much; Dr Octavius was still a tricky bastard. She'd have to try and forestall any revelations he might make, and hope MJ would take up on the cues she gave.

"Hey man. We gave you a while before coming back in." Hudson gestured towards Ock. "You got him then."

"Yep, Ocky's fizzled out, and he's in a bit of a lather about it too."

"So I see," said Hudson dryly, "have you the evidence you mentioned this morning?"

"You'll want to take that apart _very_ carefully in an isolated biohazard containment area," Spidey replied, pointing up at the slide projector, "Hang on a mo…" She leapt up suddenly, clung to the underside of the second floor balcony and crawled over to the webbed-up bundle. She took it, shelf and all, off the wall and flipped back down to the ground. Hudson and Kysela jumped back slightly as she landed in front of them. Picking a chair upright, she placed the projector on it and continued, "and I have papers and notes given to me by a Dr. Whithead, which he personally signed as true and correct. You may have gathered from Ock's earlier statement that Whithead won't be able to give live testimony. But we do have a witness to a murder…"

Spidey glanced at Mary-Jane, who was nodding. 

Hudson frowned at her. "I thought we cleared this area out."

"I-I fell in the confusion, and ended up under a table. Once they started fighting, I stayed hidden."

"Well, that's sensible at least," said the sergeant, mollified. "What did you see?"

"Um, to put it briefly, Spider-Man and Dr. Octavius fighting, with Octavius threatening to kill Spidey, but then Ock managed to get a couple of hits in, and Spidey passed out."

Both Hudson and Kysela gave sidelong looks at Spidey. She grinned under her mask, but nodded and said, "True. He got a lucky strike – in my ribs." She watched them both wince, as they remembered the state she'd been in from her broken ribs only two days ago.

MJ continued. "Octavius started ranting, and threatened to pull Spider-Man to pieces when this other character flew in and stopped him, but I don't think he was being a hero; he had something against Spider-Man too, and shot him…"

Again the looks from the two police officers – Spidey grinned wider; they could see no sign of any gunshot wounds. MJ was feeding them a good line here.

"Oh, not with a real gun, some weirdo ray-gun. Ock thought Spidey was dead and tossed his body away and started going real nuts at this guy; yelling at him to start with, then swiping at him with his tentacles. He hit him real hard and… I think he's killed him." Mary-Jane purposely avoided looking down at the body off to the side.

Kysela knelt down and inspected the still form. "Dead," she said flatly. Hudson nodded. 

"Spidey recovered, got a second wind or something, and beat the bejeezus out of Ock, but I think Ock's become delusional; he keeps going on about two Spider-Men, and other crap like that. The shock of seeing Spidey come back to life must have been too much for him."

"Uh huh. It's like that with these types of psychos… Well, thanks Miss. If you could stay to give us a full statement…"

Off to the side, Kysela's RT buzzed to life. She answered the crackles in a low tone, looked questioningly at Hudson, and when he nodded at her, moved off towards the entrance. 

The Sergeant and Mary-Jane both turned towards Spidey at the same time, plainly expecting something from her. She was at a loss – what should she do now?

"I…" she began, when there was a shout from near the entrance.

"MJ!"

It was Peter. Thankfully, she'd be able to use his presence as an excuse to leave.

"Aw crap." Spidey moaned, "Not him…"

Hudson grinned in amusement.

"You'll excuse me, but I've got something on the boil. I'll swing by later," said Spidey, as she aimed a strand of webbing at the steels struts near the glass roof of the atrium. She swung off with a wave, blowing a kiss to Ock as she went. "Have a nice time; don't forget to send me a postcard!" she called out to him, and smiled as he shook his fist at her in impotent anger. 

*********************************************************


	33. Reward

****

A/N: I've made up a name for a group in this chapter - I don't know the language, so it's only a word-for-word translation - probably completely wrong… :\

Only a few more chapters till the end… thanks for your patience!

Cheers,

Apteryx

***********************************************************

****

Chapter 33: Reward.

The living room of Peter's apartment felt like an old comfortable cardy, something you could slip on and wrap around you to warm not only your body, but your emotional state as well. Erica felt she needed that; there had been so many highs and lows throughout the afternoon – in fact throughout the last few days – that she craved some calm, time to think without tension, without the anticipation of a threat looming ahead. So. Now it was all over, what did she feel? 

Well, it wasn't over, not for her. 

She had been operating so much on the 'get-Octopus-then-get-'Ray-man-and-get-home' scenario, that to have 'Ray-man', or 'Actino', dead, and her chances of getting back home also dead, meant that she felt totally drained. Anticlimactic. Erica thought she should possibly be feeling upset, or angry, but not confused like she was. She was horrified too; she felt she had indirectly been the cause of two deaths, Dealy and Whithead, and almost the cause of another, Peter's.

Erica curled up on the couch and sipped her cup of tea. Since leaving the Student Services Centre, she had retrieved the camera she'd set up, then sneaked off to retrieve her backpack and clothes where she'd stashed them. She'd changed, caught the subway back to the apartment, showered, changed again, washed the Spider-Man outfit and hung it up to dry. Keeping busy kept her from thinking too much. She had also raided Pete's well stocked medicine cabinet and found some analgesic, something called Motrin – she was unfamiliar with all the brands - and now she was resting; it was starting to hurt to even breathe. 

Her eyes hurt too, but Erica couldn't tell whether that was because of the bright sunlight reflecting off all those metallic surfaces while she was fighting in the atrium, or a side effect of the blow to the head she'd taken. Maybe even the after effects of Actino's ray-gun… She tried to puzzle that out; what _had_ happened when Pete got his spider-powers back anyway? But her head hurt. In fact, her whole body hurt.

"Stuff it!" she exclaimed, resting her head against the back of the couch and closing her eyes.

She must have dozed off for a while. Erica woke with a start when the clang of the elevator announced its arrival at the penthouse level. She quickly grabbed her now cold cup of tea off the floor, and carefully stood up, favouring her side. She noted with relief that her other various aches had gone, for which she was grateful; she must have needed that bit of sleep more than she knew. Glancing up at the clock as she went to the kitchen, she saw that it was later than she thought – a good two hours had passed since she left ESU – she wasn't sure if that meant Mary-Jane had spent a short, long or medium length of time giving her statement to the police. How long is a piece of string? 

The front door opened and the couple walked in, Mary-Jane looking tense and weary, but Peter seeming alert and ready for anything. He still had his arm in its sling, but Erica noticed that his injury barely bothered him as he placed his camera bag on the table, pulled out a chair for MJ to sit on, and glanced over at Erica in greeting. MJ sat down without her usual grace and gave a huge sigh, then she turned and tilted her head back to look up at Pete.

"What do you think you were trying to achieve back there, Mr Parker? You almost had yourself killed!" 

She was really furious. Erica wouldn't have wanted to be in Peter's shoes at that moment; she guessed the anger had been simmering for a while, and was only allowed to boil over now that they were in private.

Peter gave a large, fake grin, more a grimace, of embarrassment. 

"I had to help Erica. I couldn't leave her like that."

"Bullshit. You didn't spontaneously decide to help. You had it all planned. And with your arm too…" 

"I'm a super-hero. I have to."

"You're a super-hero without powers – that stupid strength formula doesn't count. That's not being a super-hero, that's being a super-fathead."

"But…" both Peter and Erica interjected together. Could it be that MJ didn't realise, didn't know?

"But nothing. You _ever_ pull a stunt like that again, and I'm out for good this time."

"But…" repeated Peter.

"And that's not an empty threat either. Oh, Peter, I was worried sick about you!"

"But…"

"But _what_?" After her initial outburst, MJ had calmed down enough to notice that Peter did have something he wanted to tell her.

"But I _have_ got powers. My spider-powers are back."

"And I'm really the Hulk…"

"He _has_!" Erica asserted.

"What! How? Why didn't you tell me?" 

Peter laughed. "I was trying to, you idiot." He put his arm around Mary-Jane, and lifted her out of her chair, brought her close in to him for a hug. "It was that ray-gun that did it."

Mary-Jane looked startled. "Oh," she said, and broke free. She quickly un-zipped the camera bag, and to the astonishment of both Erica and Peter, pulled out the very ray-gun in question.

Erica gaped, then asked, "How did you get hold of that?"

Smiling at their reactions, MJ handed the gun over to Peter, who took it curiously.

"It landed not far from where I was hiding, so I crept out and got it. I missed the end of the battle because of it, and when I got back, Erica was foaming Octopus, and you were leaning against a pillar, watching. I didn't see you fighting…"

"…and didn't see I had my spider-powers back. I see." Peter turned the gun over in his hands once more, then put it carefully down on the table. "I'd like to have a closer look at it later."

Erica asked the question that had been bugging her, stuck in her head like an annoying tune.

"How come, if you've got your powers back, I've still got spider-powers? I mean, theoretically, when that gun was used on you again, I should have gone back powerless to my own universe."

"I don't know. You did say that Dealy was buying more bits for it; perhaps he adjusted it to do something different. He also thought I still had my powers." Peter grinned, "Your impersonation's been good enough for that. So obviously his 'alter-ray' didn't work as he expected it to yet again."

Upset again, Erica turned away from them, she slumped over onto the couch, head lowered, and ran her fingers through her hair. If the unexpected happened each time the ray-gun was fired, how would she ever be able to get home? Resting her cheekbones on the palms of her hands, she shuddered; she imagined being sent under aegis of the gun, to a completely different alternative universe – one where she knew no-one and where the whole background was such that she was utterly out of her depth. Or the 'alter-ray' stripped both her and Peter of the spider-powers but still left her here. Or…

Someone sat next to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw it was Peter.

"Y'know," he offered, "we could get help. I didn't think of it before, because they were out of town, but I could ask the Fantastic Four…"

"Oh, Reed Richards. I'd forgotten about him." Erica lifted her head and looked directly at Peter in hope.

"Well, he'd be able to figure out what the 'alter-ray' is, anyways. C'mon now," he said, changing the subject, "let's all go out and get dinner. I don't know about you, but I'm starved!"

Over dinner at Mullen's, Erica mostly recovered her good spirits. The bright and noisy busy atmosphere helped somewhat, but what really helped was the food. She must have been low in blood sugar or something. Peter was really sparking; although he hadn't said anything, he must be stoked to have his powers back, Erica thought. He was recounting the highlights of the questioning Mary-Jane and he had undergone, in between tackling one of the largest steaks Erica had ever seen.

"…it took four cops to move him out; they had called in the special ops team, and I presume they were taking him to the Vault - that's a special prison for the super-villain types - yet again." He pulled a face, "As long as they don't let him escape…"

He was giving this much detail for her sake, Erica guessed, as a stranger.

"I took a few pics, but I didn't want to bring attention to myself."

"I got a whole lot of it on film too," said Erica.

"Great. Jameson will be happy."

"Yes, you've got to keep him happy," added in MJ, "and we all know which ones he'll run with."

Peter was staring into space for a bit. "Y'know," he said thoughtfully, "we never tested the foam for permanency, and it's far enough off the usual formula that…"

"You mean they may have to chip him out?" Erica laughed, "How embarrassing. Some of it stuck to his clothes I think…"

She turned to MJ. "How did the suggesting he was delusional go down?"

"It's just as well – Ock did indeed start saying that Spider-Man was a woman. No one believed him. I think the police would have an easier time believing some of the wilder stories they hear – they kept saying, "You mean Spider-Woman," and he was going, "No! Spider-Man! Spider-Man was a woman, and then the real Spider-Man appeared and fought me," and they were all, "Yeah, riiight," so I think you're OK, safe still."

Erica was not so sure; she had seen the speculative look in Sergeant Hudson's eyes before, and after a statement like that, he was bound to have the idea lurking at the back of his mind. She'd been a bit careless this morning visiting him, and had forgot totally about it in the aftermath of the battle; this evening she'd have to make more use of the shadows, pay attention to her vocals.

She mopped up the last of the gravy from her Irish stew with a piece of bread, running it around her plate until it was clean, while she thought of what to say next.

"Um, didn't Hudson think it strange it was _your_ wife who witnessed it all? I mean, with you associated with Spider-Man and that?"

Peter rubbed the back of his neck. "No, I don't believe he did. He wasn't surprised to see me – with Jameson and all the rest of the media about. But he did have a job trying to keep the media out, especially the TV crews. I think he was relieved to find that MJ wasn't someone after a hot scoop…"

"Jameson did try to offer me a sum of money for my story," cut in MJ, "but I turned him down. He's not going to have the opportunity to distort the facts with my complicity."

"Yeah, it's not as if you haven't done that already without his help." Peter teased.

Mary-Jane pulled a face and poked him in the ribs. "Just because I can't beat up on you any more!"

Peter chuckled, but Erica's thoughts were already elsewhere. With Sergeant Hudson again, actually. She didn't believe that he'd make nothing of the coincidence of MJ being there, he was too acute for that, but at least she and MJ had acted as total strangers with each other. 

The talk turned to other subjects over coffee. Erica watched Peter and Mary-Jane together, and noticed how MJ became enlivened in his presence; from looking tired earlier, she was now bubbly and bright. Yet another reason to go home…

Feeling not excluded, but definitely extraneous, Erica got up, mumbled her excuses and left, paying her share of the meal as she went. She glanced back at the table as she reached the door, and saw that neither of them had missed her. She had other things she had to do anyway… but it was hard to shake the feeling of anticlimax. She chose to walk back to the apartment. A slow walk up Seventh Avenue, past delis, food outlets and restaurants, apartment blocks and even a couple of old textile retailers, remnants of the trade that originally gave the Garment District its name. 

Erica took her time, peering into windows of the delis at the food on display, walking past buildings she guessed were still factories, filled with immigrants at sewing machines trying to compete with cheap imports, and up past the bulk of Madison Square Garden – funny name for something so not a garden. It was busy tonight; according to the signs, a game with the New York Knicks. As she made her way through the happy crowds, Erica wondered what sport they played – a New Yorker would probably think it sacrilege that she didn't know. 

It was times like these she felt so much the outsider, a stranger in the city. It was a kind of joke, that she had played the part of another outsider, yet one who was that way for a different reason. Well, not much longer now.

Another block up, and somebody grabbed her arm. Erica whirled about in surprise; her spidey-sense hadn't gone off, and when she saw who it was, she laughed in relief.

"You're jumpy," said Siobhan. She was with a guy who was obviously a Knicks fan, at least according to his t-shirt.

"What do you expect? A stranger, walking by herself through the streets of New York after dark…"

"Where's your mysterious cousin?"

"He and his mysterious wife are having dinner together."

"Shame. Look, you be careful now… We've gotta go."

"Cheerio." Erica smiled as she watched them go. She may be an outsider now, but if she ended up having to stay in this reality she still had a few friends, and could make more…

As she walked the last distance to the building and the apartment, she thought about that possibility. 

If… 

With Pete back as Spider-Man, she wouldn't continue as Spidey, but with spider-powers still, could she be plain Erica Stirling again? Erica wasn't so sure now; two weeks ago, even thinking such a thought would have sent her into deep panic. A week ago, she would have said yes without hesitation. Today, she couldn't believe she was seriously contemplating whether she should assume a different alter-ego and keep helping combat crime. 

The apartment was locked. Looking about, and relying on her spider-sense, Erica ducked into the alley and scaled the bricks up to the bathroom window, much as she had done earlier.

"Ruddy ribs," she groaned as she flopped onto the bathroom floor, in pain after the climb. Well, at least she wouldn't have to hide the fact she was injured to Hudson… not as Spidey. It would be easier to hide that sort of thing if she happened to meet him as Erica anyway – the sergeant wouldn't expect _her_ to be leaping and swinging about the place.

Erica bound her ribs up with a huge elastic band she found in the medicine cabinet – although she had heard it wasn't the done thing with broken ribs nowadays, she felt she wouldn't be able to last the evening out without some sort of support. Pulling the Spidey costume off the hanger, she changed into it with mixed feelings, very aware that this would be the last time she wore it. 

She checked the time by the clock. Time to get going.

Gathering up the photos and papers that she had, she placed them in an envelope and slipped it securely under her belt. Then, with a certain amount of ritual significance, Erica pulled the costume's mask over her head.

Just as she reached the bathroom window again, she heard the clanking of the lift. Peter and MJ returning. They must have come after her. Well, she'd see them later. In a flash, Spidey was out the window, and the flat was empty.

Spidey took her time going the short distance across town to the precinct, and not only because of her broken ribs. She was relishing the freedom, enjoying the sensation of travelling through the air as she swung on her strands of web. Man, had she changed! Perhaps she should get back into sailing once she was home again, maybe even go for a bungy jump. Somehow, she thought the prospect of such pursuits didn't worry her at all now.

West 35th Street, and the Precinct just ahead. Spidey landed on top of the building and crawled down the stone frontage to the window of Hudson's office. She was bemused to see that the window was wide open, even though it was night and the temperature had dropped until it had reached the ambience of the interior of a refrigerator. Now, if that isn't a welcome mat laid out for Spidey, then I don't know what is, she thought. Through the window, she viewed the sergeant at his desk – more paperwork, no wonder he was working late. He's got to hate me for that though...

Knocking on the window frame this time to announce her presence, she observed as she climbed in, "What a sucky job, eh? I get to have all the fun, and you do the boring bits at the end."

Hudson smiled as he motioned her to the other chair. "I'd rather have my job than yours any day."

"Yeah, I must admit the pay is pretty lousy." She ignored the chair, and instead instantaneously webbed herself a perch; there were no shadows in the brightly lit office to help conceal her form, so she'd have to make do with how she sat.

"How are your ribs?"

"Got any spare?"

Hudson chuckled, then came straight to the point without further preamble. "Doctor Octavius has made some interesting accusations against you; most of it is bluster, but I'm curious to see whether you can clear up a couple of points for me…"

'Uh oh, here it comes,' thought Spidey to herself, but out loud, "Sure, though it's likely to be the old my-word-against-his," she said.

"He claims you attacked him out of malice, and have no proof of your claims against him."

Without a word, Spidey pulled out the envelope and tossed it on the desk in front of Hudson. He let it sit there for a while, as he continued to converse with her.

"And he claims you're a, ahem, a woman…"

Spidey forced herself to stay relaxed in her hammock chair. "What, I hit like a girl or something? Tentacles and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me," she chuckled.

"What I thought," said Hudson. He opened the envelope and tipped out its contents – a glass slide, and several pages of text. Carefully not touching the sample slide, he read the notes signed by Whithead. Sighing, he replaced them on his desk and slowly twirled around in his chair while he cogitated, then looked up at Spidey. 

"One of our officers is at the Moroney Clinic now, searching for his body. We'll check this tunnel out. I think this is proof enough. But how did you discover the whole scheme?"

"Someone tried to off me a coupla weeks ago – that's nothing new – but several things about the attempt were screwy, so I looked into it, in my own interests of course."

"Of course." 

Spidey chuckled. "It's ironic. If Ock hadn't tried to have me out of the way then, I might never have known he was about, or what he was up to. He might have succeeded with his plan if it wasn't for that pre-emptive strike."

Hudson shuddered. "I doubt you'll get many thanks from other sources, so I'd like to say thanks myself."

"No problem. You're right, I don't get much appreciation and approbation; it's nice when I do." 

"You may also want to know about the Lebab 'ayin Lashown."

"The what?"

"You called them the Untongued. We thought journalists or the media were their targets to begin with, but Blomfield wasn't that. He's the Israeli attaché at the United Nations, has worked at Camp David, and he's known for his conciliatory stance in Middle Eastern affairs…"

"Who, that lump of lard!" Spidey interrupted. "I didn't think he cared for anything other than his precious furnishings."

"Politics isn't about caring," said Hudson, amused. "I looked again at Jameson, painful though it is to look at his pointy little head for long… I know his editorial position on the subject was the same as Blomfield's. And I guess that Kysela's CNN viewpoint was pretty much neutral too. Well, that, plus the information you got us, showed that the group was a militant Israeli cult, aimed at eliminating anyone who promoted a peace-keeping line towards the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Included in those papers was a list of targets; as they worked through the list, they would have affected national security at the highest level – not good reading."

Spidey shifted slightly in her web. "You take the credit for that; I would never have figured that out – no matter what their political orientation, killing others is not the answer. I just caught them for you guys."

"Don't sell yourself short, Spider-Man. Credit where credit's due."

"Yeah, well… The night's young and all that, 'The City is of Night; perchance of Death'. I'd better go…" She sprung up to the ceiling and, conscious of the sergeant's eyes on her, skittered across to the window.

"Wait." Hudson commanded, as she was about to climb out, "I'm curious; what _is_ your connection with Parker?"

Spidey grinned under her mask; she hadn't seen that one coming. 

"We have an agreement. He takes my photos, I don't beat him up."

"C'mon," Hudson cajoled, "There's got to be more to it than that."

"He pays me not to beat him up? – that do ya?"

Hudson shook his head, knowing he wasn't going to get a straight answer out of Spidey on this one. "Never mind."

"I won't."

Spidey shot out a webline, then turned to Hudson as she was about to take off. "Be seein' ya!"

Hudson raised a hand in farewell, and when Spidey reached the rooftop of the building opposite and looked back before moving on, he was still there, silhouetted against the light, watching.

"Time for one last – gentle – swing," murmured Spidey to herself, aimlessly heading downtown. She paused on the cornice of a building and had a sudden thought as she looked up. "Now _there's_ somewhere I haven't been yet!" she exclaimed, and headed towards her new goal, humming softly. Gaining it, she sprang for a flag pole, then throwing herself upwards from it, leapt up a couple of set-backs, and began the long clamber up the side of the Empire State Building. If some guy can run up the stairs in less than ten minutes, then she ought to be able to do it in less than half that time. Two minutes later, Spidey was perched on one of the decorative 'fins' near the top, enjoying the view. Such a touristy thing to do, though perhaps she may have been better to catch the lift like the real tourists – her crook side was going to be a real pain tomorrow.

She was watching the lights of Manhattan, and thinking it was about time to leave – that wind was getting really frigid now – when her spidey-sense buzzed a low-grade warning; something approaching. She stood up, ready to take action if need be, but sat down again when she saw the flash of red and the reflective white eyes come crawling around the corner.

"Hi," she said, as Spider-Man sat down next to her.

He was silent for a moment as he also took in the view. "You can see why it's so popular," he said eventually, "And it's peaceful up here, away from traffic noise and the crowds." He pointed above and below them, indicating the two public viewing areas. "Though personally, it's still too public for me as a place of contemplation."

Spidey sighed, and ran her hand over the top of her head. "Well, you know, I thought I'd avoid paying admission if I came up here tonight; it's steep as the side of a hen's face," she feebly joked, but she didn't really feel up to the wisecracks.

"Why'd you take off like that? We were worried about you – and then to find you had been and gone when we got back to the apartment… do you know, Mary-Jane actually urged me to come out and look for you?"

"Did she?" she said spiritlessly. Spidey was somewhat surprised, not so much that they thought she was avoiding them by leaving – she didn't think they had fully registered her good-byes at the pub – but that they, and in particular MJ, had become concerned for her.

"She thinks very highly of you – it's not all an act."

Erica blushed in mortification under her mask, and was very grateful for its concealing nature at that moment. Had she been that transparent in her attitude towards MJ?

"I-I went to see Hudson." She skittered around the subject, as much as if physically dodging a pitfall that had suddenly opened up in front of her.

Spider-Man nodded, and thankfully, left it at that.

"I didn't say thank-you, did I? It was a hard ask, but you've handled it so well, I kind of forget you've been in the webs less than two weeks. I've expected so much from you, and you've exceeded those expectations wildly. If it was up to me, I'd throw a ticker-tape parade for you down Fifth Avenue, complete with open-top limos and giant balloons."

"What, no marching girls?"

"Well, maybe one or two. Pipe bands – whaddya say to pipe bands? And as an added bonus, a float with criminals rattling their chains at the crowds."

"Bonza!"

Spider-Man chuckled, then fell silent again. "I was, um, going on patrol. Uh, what are your plans for tonight?"

Spidey almost laughed – he was unsure whether she wanted to patrol with her injury or go home and rest.

"Oh, what the hell – I'm going to patrol too; make a night of it!" She turned her head to face Spider-Man, reflections of reflecting eyes within eyes. "I'll cover a different area though, don't want to confuse the police more, eh?"

Spider-Man stood up, and she followed suit. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave a slight squeeze. "Enjoy yourself," he said quietly, 'Enjoy your reward."

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	34. Hot Dog

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A/N: Nearly there… I've been having a wee spot of trouble with the ending, but I think I've got it now… only a couple more chapters to go! Weee!

Cheers,

Apteryx

****

Chapter 34: Hot Dog

This time she was gently shaken awake. Mary-Jane stood over her, with a cup of tea in her hands, which she passed over to Erica as soon as she had cautiously sat up. "Mmm. Wassatime?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes with one hand and yawning.

"Past eight. Peter wants to go into the Bugle and develop yesterday's photos. He wants your help. I'd go, but I've got an appointment about a job here."

"Um, OK, let me get dressed…"

MJ laughed. "No real hurry," she said, "Oh, all right, maybe just a little, but you can finish your drink first."

So, while Erica awkwardly threw on some clothes, she also had breakfast and listened to MJ talk about the job she hoped to get, "…what appeals is the art direction as well. They know how experienced I am modelling, and I think one guy remembers a shoot were I had to organise the wardrobe because of an emergency with the…"

Her flow was interrupted by knocking on the other side of the bedroom door. 

"Is it safe to come out now?"

MJ giggled. "Most people don't believe me when I tell them how shy Peter is," she confided to Erica, before opening the door.

"All clear."

"Good. Let's get going." Peter strode through the lounge to the front door, stopping only to pick up a jacket, and his camera bag. Erica hurriedly stood up to follow, scattering toast crumbs over the lino, and grabbing her back pack from the floor.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" MJ asked sweetly.

Peter paused at the doorway. "Uh… no," he said, looking about.

"Sure?" The redhead came right up to him, smiling.

"Yeah, pretty sure."

MJ suddenly grabbed Peter by the collar and pulled his head down for a lingering kiss. Erica looked away, half embarrassed, and heard Pete say, "How could I forget that?" and MJ reply, "Ciao Tiger, have a good time," before turning back again to rush out the door after Peter. The last thing she heard before the door closed was Mary-Jane's laughter ringing out behind her.

A few minutes later, and Erica was out on the street with Peter, heading down towards the Bugle.

"Have a good night?" he asked her.

"Nothing complicated. Low-key and business-like; with crook ribs, I tried to take it easy."

"Fair enough," Peter squinted up at a tall building. "I'm going to pay a call to the FF at lunchtime; take the ray-gun with me, but…"

"It's all right, go ahead. I've got a couple of other things I want to do."

"You don't mind?"

"Oh, I'd like to meet them, but I understand – trying to explain my unannounced presence, especially if I'm, uh, 'dressed up', would be a pain. Maybe later, eh."

Peter smiled. "You're so reasonable."

"That's my middle name: Erica Reasonable Stirling."

They chatted amiably as they took the lift up to the main office. Erica wondered how the staff would react to Peter's arm in a sling, but apart from a few jocular comments, most seemed unfazed. Robbie Robertson was more interested in the previous day's fight. He laughed as he pushed Peter in the direction of the darkroom, saying, "Go! Jonah will be having conniptions about now!"

Once in the darkroom with the red light safely on, Peter went about developing the negatives.

"You don't need me to help you at all, do you? What did you want me in here for?" said Erica, watching him wind the film into a developing tank.

"It's all appearances. If you weren't here, they'd start to wonder why I've got a sling. And I can't just hand these over to someone else to develop – they'll have some rather _too_ interesting pics on them."

Erica sighed, and sat down on one of the stools dotted about. "I guess so."

"And while we've got a little down time, there's something I want to do." He put a timer on, left the tank on the bench, and climbed up on a stool, reaching out to one of the high shelves for a plastic container, a dull pink colour in the lab's light. Erica was curious as to what he was up to. 

Suddenly, her spider-sense flared.

Erica leapt off her stool and dived towards Peter, wrapping her arms around his legs in a high rugby tackle and throwing themselves both across into the far wall, crashing into the drying cupboard as the container dropped heavily onto the stool, liquid spraying out from its open top.

Picking herself up from the floor, Erica glanced at Peter to see if he was OK - he had quickly jumped back to grab the container and set it upright, and was mopping up the spill with a sponge - then surveyed the damage to the cupboard door, hoping that no one had heard the crash or would come and investigate it if they had. The door was ripped off its hinges, and hung at a distorted angle from its catch. Slowly, Erica turned her head as she became aware of Peter's eyes on her, glinting oddly in the light, an expression on his face of puzzled speculation.

"What?" she said, as he continued to regard her in that manner.

"You knew," he said, "You knew that was going to happen."

"Well of course I did, you dill. I've still got a little thing called spider-sense."

"But you knew that was going to happen to _me_."

Startled, Erica stared at Peter.

"You're right – I did." How did she do that? Thinking back, she recalled a couple of other times when she had done the same thing, only she had thought nothing of it. 

"It seems to be instinctual – well, it _is_ part of the spider-sense after all, but… I wonder if – if it's a link through the point of origin of your powers?" Peter mused, "Y'know, even after all these years, I haven't taken the time to really explore and work out exactly what drives my spider-sense. Developing the tracers has been about it. Though..." He lapsed into silence.

Erica stood there still, half staggered, and as the silence lengthened, increasingly irritated.

The buzzer of the timer cut in on them. Peter moved over to the bench, avoiding the wet patch on the floor and emptied the chemicals out of the developing tank.

"You did that on purpose!"

Peter turned and grinned at Erica. "I said I wanted to try something out. I'm happy now."

Erica couldn't help but grin back. Peter was still such a science nerd; he was like a puppy with a new toy now he had a new puzzle to mull over.

In the end, she did help Peter with the developing – not because his arm was giving him trouble, but because there were a few parts where having an extra set of arms sped the process up. The image of Dr Octopus flashed through her mind, causing her to shiver as she thought about his pernicious insanity, and how close to death she and Peter had come.

"Cold?" asked Peter.

"No, just thinking…"

He nodded, and went back to the job in hand.

"All right," he said at last, sorting through the prints. He had duplicated those for public view - one set for Jonah and the other spare - and a separate, private set that he gave to Erica to put in her bag, "Let's face the fire – uh, I mean smoke, and take these to Jonah."

J. Jonah Jameson was, as usual, in his office pouring over the day's stories and growling softly to himself, when Peter and Erica walked in. He scowled at them momentarily, then his face lit up, eyebrows almost blending in with his hairline – he had seen the packet that Peter held in his hand.

"Gimme here!" he demanded, holding out his hand expectantly.

"What's the magic word?" teased Peter, keeping them out of his reach.

"Please." The word was ground out reluctantly, but once Jonah had the photos, and was flicking through them, he started chortling.

"Hee hee, these are great! Spider-Man getting his lumps at the hands, and hands, and hands, of Dr Octopus! The capture of Dr Octopus – no other paper or TV station has any record. These are going to blow the socks offa them!" He rubbed his hands together, looked up and saw them both still there.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Tell Robertson I said to give you the going rate for these – I've got important work to do."

"Yeah, like count his money…" commented Erica as soon as they were out of his office. 

"He'll have a bit less than he expects soon – Robbie's pretty generous with the payouts."

As they made their way to Robbie's desk, they noticed a different tall, dark figure coming towards them. It was Sergeant Hudson. Erica felt her face start to redden at the sight of him; a mixture of guilt, anxiety, pleasure, and embarrassment. She hoped that he would not take her flushed cheeks as a sign of gaucherie, but apart from giving her a quick glance, he paid no attention to her.

"You took some photographs I believe," he was saying to Pete.

"Would you like a set?" Pete replied disingenuously, and handed over the duplicates he had made.

Hudson flipped through them, studying them closely and showing no emotion as he did so. Eventually, he looked up at Peter, Erica, and Robbie, who had now joined them, and gave them all a grim scowl. Erica wondered what it was he had seen that caused that reaction, and was worried that Peter hadn't thoroughly vetted the pics before handing them over.

She needn't have worried. The next moment the sergeant broke into a startling smile, and started laughing, to the bewilderment of them all.

"The look on your faces!" he exclaimed, still chuckling in amusement. Robbie was smiling now, but Peter looked distinctly unamused. Erica felt a small smile struggling to get loose; Hudson's investigations must be going well for him to be in this playful mood.

"Excuse me, I've got to have a word with Mr Robertson," said Peter, rather stiffly, and moved off, grabbing Robbie by the arm and pulling him away from Hudson to a more distant spot. 

"Well, how about that?" said the spurned police officer, watching them leave. Then at last giving all his attention directly to Erica, asked her, "Third time lucky yet?"

"Yes, I've seen him. I even spoke with him."

"For real?"

"Yeah. I was with Peter at the time. Spider-Man came down to talk to us – this was before yesterday arvo - I think he was worried about Dr Octopus; he asked Pete to set up a camera, for evidence, I think. Anyway, I got to say gidday. He was not quite what I expected." Erica felt the heat rise in her cheeks again. Hudson must have taken her reaction for embarrassment, perhaps for thinking she had had a crush on Spider-Man. He passed the comment by.

"Where were you yesterday?"

"Me? I was busy getting lost in Macy's."

Chuckling, Hudson leant against the desk. "Relax," he smiled, "I'm not interrogating you – I'm only curious is all. What does Peter Parker's cousin do when she's let loose?"

Erica pulled a wry face. "Actually, now that MJ – that's his wife – is in New York too, I've a lot more time to myself."

"Well, if you've got all that time floating around, perhaps you'd like to use up some of it by having lunch with me."

"What, now?" asked Erica, a little flustered. She hadn't expected _that_.

"I do get lunch breaks, y'know."

"I, uh… yeah, OK."

"Still not used to cops carrying?" he said jokingly, amused at her hesitation.

She followed Hudson out of the open office area, glancing back at Peter and noticing he was watching her, one eyebrow raised in question. She shrugged in return and waved to him as she left.

Out in the sunshine, among the milling pedestrians, Erica felt self-conscious walking with a police officer by her side, but nobody else seemed to notice – blasé New Yorkers wrapped up in their own little worlds. Yellow cabs were inching along the street, horns blaring, not that it achieved anything with the traffic in its normal lunchtime snarl. 

"So, where're we going to eat?" asked Erica, feeling almost shy to boot. She'd have to tell him she was going home soon; she wouldn't want him to get the wrong idea or anything…

"There's a street vendor along the way that does a good line in hot dogs. You had a real New York hot dog while you've been here?"

Erica shook her head.

"Thought not. My treat." Hudson gave her a pleased smile. 

They reached the vendor's cart, talking about food; what Erica had found strange, or how, surprisingly, how much of it was not strange at all, despite never having seen or tasted it in real life, due to the pervasive imagery that appeared in books, films and television.

"See, I'd have no idea of New Zealand food, none at all." Hudson paused to purchase their lunch, then passed Erica's over to her.

"Well, for instance, a hot dog in New Zealand is a sausage deep-fried in batter, with a stick stuck up it," Erica commented.

"Really? There you are then. Let's go up a bit – there's a small plaza where we can sit and eat."

"Good-o."

They were within sight of the plaza, when Erica felt the slight tingle at the back of her skull. She was being followed. She smiled, automatically knowing who it was following them, and looked back down the street behind her, and up. A red-and-blue figure was coming closer. She was unaware that she had actually stopped, until Hudson touched her arm.

"What is it?" he said, then followed her gaze upwards. The sergeant chuckled, "Now why is he following you, I wonder?"

"Spider-Man follow me? Nah – he must be on his way someplace… but isn't the way he does that amazing?" she said, shading her eyes as she watched Spider-Man swing closer on his webs.

"Oh yes, I was forgetting you don't have super-heroes in New Zealand."

"Even less than you might suppose," Erica murmured, then waved at Spider-Man now he was practically overhead. He turned his iridescent eyes down towards them, gave an extra fillip to his swing that was the web equivalent of a wing-waggle, and continued his path uptown.

Hudson sighed, and guided Erica to the small open space and found them a seat on one of the built-in benches. A fair few others had the idea of sitting there in the sun as well – the place was relatively crowded.

Erica took a few bites from her hot dog, daintily licking the mustard from the corner of her mouth as she ate, so as not to appear more of a slob han she already wes. She had a quick sidelong look at Hudson sitting easily next to her, and discovered he had already devoured his hot dog – probably in only two bites, she thought with amusement.

Hudson leaned back with a sigh, his eyes closed and his long legs stretched out in front of him. Erica observed how the sun picked out the russet highlights of his dark skin over the strong bone structure. She stared openly, admiring his looks, since he was unable to see her do so.

He chuckled suddenly, making her jump and almost drop her hot dog. He opened his eyes and looked at her. 

"Y'know," he said, "For a while there, I thought _you_ were Spider-Man…" 

Erica flushed; her face must be bright red. "Me?" she squeaked.

"Yup. Ridiculous I know, but you were never there with your cousin when Spider-Man was about."

Forcing a laugh that she hoped didn't sound fake, Erica replied, "I think your job's getting to you, Sergeant Hudson… eh?" And then the funny aspect of it all hit her, and she laughed again, with real hilarity. What a fluke, Peter swinging by just then, what a fluke…

"Please… call me Bill," he gasped, as he joined in the laughter.

Erica's outburst stopped immediately. She had to say something to Hud- Bill, in case he got the wrong impression.

"Um, I'm going home soon," she said tentatively, "Back to New Zealand, that is…"

"Oh, are you? That's a real shame… I would've liked to have shown you around more – now that your cousin's too busy, of course."

"Of course." Erica smiled at the face saving. "I've come to enjoy my time here, unexpectedly. A family duty that turned out to be not such a chore after all."

"That's great. I'm glad things worked out then?"

"More than I thought." Erica grinned at her private double entendres, her cheeks no longer flushed, and her eyes shining in her tanned face.

They conversed for a while in the sun, talking about family, then jobs.

"…very sad," Bill was saying, his manner solemn, "The whole tunnel had been collapsed, brought down by Octavius trying to destroy the evidence; the lab and the body. It will be a long time before he gets released this time."

Erica was silent, thinking about Dr Whithead. A man who had made it his life's work to help others, but who had been duped into helping a criminal madman who had no interests at heart other than his own.

Eventually, Hudson glanced at his watch and sat upright with a huge sigh.

"Time I was back on the beat." He studied Erica for a moment. "Thanks for your company. Good luck for the journey home, bon voyage and all that. We probably won't meet again."

He held out his hand to shake. 

"No, we probably won't," said Erica, miserable as a shag on a rock. She took his hand, and they shook. Then, impulsively, and vaguely knowing it was a bad idea, she hugged him, quickly pulling away. 

He grinned, then moved off, out of the plaza and up the street. Erica watched him go, until his tall form was swallowed up by the crowds. She sighed in turn; it was time she paid a visit to a certain lawyer…

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	35. Gawk Overdrive

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A/N: We have some guest stars in this chapter - I hope my characterisation isn't off on them though, since I've never read their comics! :-)

Appreciative Reader: Thank you so much for your thoughtful reviews, and thanks too, for pointing out bits that puzzle you - means my writing could be clearer :) In answer; Peter rigged up an 'accident' in the dark room, so that the container would fall on him. He ignored his own spider-sense to do it!

Cheers,

Apteryx

**************************************************

****

Chapter 35: Gawk Overdrive

The brownstone building had a discreet sign attached by the entrance. _Nelson and Murdock. Attorneys at Law._

Erica stood at the bottom of the steps; for a successful firm, they had remarkably little ostentation about their premises. She stepped up and opened the door, which led into a hallway with more stairs going up. Too bad if they had any disabled clients, Erica thought, then caught herself; she supposed one of the partners _was_ disabled, sort of…

At the top was a small reception area, with a short, narrow corridor leading off to the side. A secretary was at work at a desk, behind a computer monitor. She looked up as Erica entered.

"May I help you?" she asked pleasantly. 

"Yes, I wonder if I can see Mr Murdock for a minute."

"Do you have an appointment?"

Maybe this was a stupid idea, thought Erica, racking her brains to come up with an excuse that would give her entry into Matt's office. "No, but I spoke to him yesterday. He was searching for some information and I believe I've got at least one of the answers to…"

One of the doors lining the corridor opened and out stepped a tall figure in a black suit and dark glasses. He looked almost as if he could be about to audition for the Blues Brothers, except for the cane he was carrying in one hand. In the other, he had a tape cassette.

"Carli, could you transcribe this and send a copy to the DA's office in conjunction with the Rimini case?" He walked over and handed the dictaphone tape to the black-haired secretary.

"Yes Mr Murdock. Mr Murdock sir, there's someone here to see you…"

Erica cleared her throat. She felt a bit constrained with the presence of the secretary there; how could she greet Matt, explain who she was?

He must have sensed her flustered state, because he said mildly, "Please, come into my office…" and walked off leaving Erica to follow him. She shut the door behind them, and looked around. It was the most uncluttered office she had ever seen, plain and unadorned, apart from one large painting on the wall behind Matt's desk.

He knew what she was looking at; "I planned to have a few more up, but Foggy couldn't understand why I would want paintings if I couldn't see them. I had to convince him that they were for the clients to look at." He paused. "Hello Erica," he said.

"Hi Matt." She shouldn't have been surprised that he knew who she was. "I told you you'd see me again."

He leant against the corner of his desk and folded his arms, his cane leaning at the same angle beside him. Erica sat down unasked, into a chair, feeling more at ease sitting down. 

"So you did. Things worked out well for you then, I hear," Matt remarked, unwittingly echoing Hudson earlier.

In her mind, a picture formed of Griffin Dealy's body sprawled amongst the chairs.

"Someone died…" she replied sadly. She couldn't read Matt's expression, but he shifted his weight to his other leg and uncrossed his arms before he spoke again.

"If it makes you feel any better," he offered, "a piece of information came in to me late yesterday about Griffin Dealy – he and Doctor Octopus were two of a kind, though perhaps Dealy was in some ways worse."

"How?"

"When he wasn't experimenting with his inventions, he preyed on children. He got quite inventive with _them_." This time, Erica had no trouble at all reading Matt's expression - one of acute disgust and revulsion – her own mirrored it.

"I don't want to hear any more, thanks," she said. No wonder her spidey-sense had been buzzing like a four-alarmer when she had literally bumped into him; she had thought at the time he was creepy. 

Matt nodded.

"How's Peter?" he said, changing the subject.

Erica broke into a smile, half in relief, half in pleasure at having good news for a change.

"He's fine, chirpier than a box of birds, and is probably at this very moment swinging around town having untold fun."

"You mean… he's got his powers back? I don't understand… you still appear to have an enhanced metabolism…"

"I do? Great!" replied Erica in jest, grinning, then explained briefly what they thought had happened regarding the powers. "That's what I came here to tell you, that the real Spider-Man is back. And to thank you for your help."

"It wasn't much…"

"If I didn't thank you, how rude would that be? Besides, I still get a kick out of meeting, uh, bona fide super-heroes." Erica had just caught herself in time – she'd been about to say 'fictional' super-heroes – which would have involved more unnecessary explanation. She stood up; time to get going. 

"I'll let you get back to your work – I've a few things to do myself before I leave, um, New York."

"A pleasure meeting you too, Erica. I can tell you're not giving me the full story; perhaps I can get it off Peter some other time."

Gratified that she hadn't flushed at that remark, Erica made her farewells and left Matt's office, stepping out into the warm Spring sun. She raised her head to scan the roof tops, and sighed. She'd travel across town in a more pedestrian manner…

Erica lay back in the chair, pleased with how the afternoon had gone, though now it was time to rest – her ribs were aching from the activity of the day, even with the elastic band strapped around them. She sipped at her tea as she dimly listened to the conversation around her, thinking back to earlier when Peter was telling her how his visit to the Fantastic Four had turned out. Reed had been intrigued at the ray-gun, and had promised to study its workings; they were to both meet him early tomorrow morning at the Four Freedoms Plaza to hear the results of his investigations, but he was pretty certain he would have no problem fixing it so that Erica could be sent home again. After all, the FF had had plenty of experience with alternate universes and negative zones and the like. 

"Erica?"

"Eh?" Erica came back to the present from her daydream.

"You _do_ remind me of Peter – he's frequently in his own little world as well. Would you like some more tea, dear?"

Aunt May stood in front of her, holding a couple of mugs, and obviously on her way to the kitchen. 

"Oh. No, I'm fine, thanks. Um, I'll come and help you with those?"

"Nonsense. Peter and Mary-Jane have already offered; besides, you all washed up after dinner for me." She paused, and looked closely at her. "I think you should just stay sitting – you're looking rather peaked – too much traipsing around the city and late nights. You have to get a decent night's sleep before your flight home tomorrow. I believe jet lag is worse if you're tired. When you get back to Peter's apartment, have a glass of warm milk before bed."

Erica laughed. "Yes, I will Aunt May. You're a sweetie."

When Aunt May had left the room, Mary-Jane spoke up. "Don't forget your cuddly blankie too," she teased. Erica knew that the gibe was aimed at her, not Aunt May; MJ loved Peter's aunt almost as much as Peter did.

"Yes Mum," she replied in kind.

"I think she's right though," said Peter, rising from the couch, "we should think about getting back."

Erica stood up and looked around for her bag. She had enjoyed the relaxed dinner, and was sad to go. 

"I'll go call a cab," said MJ, getting up as well. She moved off into the hall to the phone.

Aunt May came back in, drying her hands on a tea towel. 

"Oh, are you leaving already?" she asked, disappointed, seeing them standing.

Erica gave her a hug and a peck on the cheek. "Thanks so much, Aunt May. Mum will be so happy I've met you."

"Yes, what a pity we couldn't find out more about Uncle Jeremiah… You must write me now, you hear?"

A touch panicked, and showing it, Erica looked over May's shoulder towards Peter; how could she write inter-dimensionally? He, however, was at ease and smiling slightly, and winked at Erica in complicity.

"Uh, sure…" she replied to Aunt May.

MJ entered the living room finishing putting on her camel coat. "The cab'll be here shortly," she announced.

Peter went over to her and lovingly freed her hair from under the back of the coat, so that it flowed straight down her back. Erica, uncomfortable, shrugged on her fleece jacket, trying not to wince as she did so. She ran her fingers through her own hair, making parts of it stick out. Picking up her handbag, and placing it over her shoulder, she pulled out from it a small gift-wrapped parcel, which she handed over to Aunt May. 

"Thanks for your hospitality…"

"Oh, you shouldn't have!" Aunt May exclaimed, turning the gift over in her hands, and precisely unwrapping it, being careful not to tear the paper in the process. A small box contained a gold and crystal vial; a brooch for a live flower, to keep it fresh while you wore it. Erica went over to the TV cabinet, snapped a rose bud from the arrangement on top and passed it over to May, who gently set the bud into the glass and pinned the whole to her blouse. "It's lovely – thank you dear." She gave Erica an embrace and a wide smile, then embraced Mary-Jane and Peter in turn. "I'm so glad you two have sorted yourselves out; you had no business being apart, not when you love each other as much as you do."

"Yes Aunt May," said MJ, seriously, with her eyes downcast. But Erica saw the dimples appear for a moment in amusement, then disappear again. 

A honk sounded from outside.

"Good night," said Peter, "We'll let you get your beauty sleep – you've got to keep your girlish complexion, or people'll start thinking you're my aunt or something."

"Oh, go away with you!" exclaimed Aunt May, and they left her standing on the door-step smiling, as they piled laughing into the taxi cab.

…………………………………………………………………………….

There was a light mist on the streets this morning, though Erica couldn't tell whether it would burn off or dissipate later in the day or not. The mist made moisture appear as dew on their clothing and in their hair, as it swirled around the buildings and traffic of the city. Headlights from passing vehicles shone as indistinct glows as they passed, briefly bifurcating the mist. Sounds were confusing, their direction not always easy to make out.

She and Peter were on their way to the Four Freedoms Plaza to meet with Reed Richards. She was feeling rather nervous again, probably for no reason at all, but she couldn't help it – meeting heroes still had that silly effect on her. She was also suffering from nervous anticipation about the results of the research on the ray-gun; what if Reed hadn't been able to fix it? 

Peter seemed confident and unaffected by any such thoughts. Greater experience in these matters must help, thought Erica. She tried to put her worries out of her mind as well. 

They were nearly at Madison Ave, when Peter abruptly stopped.

"Look, I'll meet you in the foyer… when you get to Madison, walk up until 42nd Street. The building's on the corner…"

"…you can't miss it!" chimed in Erica.

Peter smiled. "In this case, it's particularly true. You'll see…" and he quickly ducked out of sight in a convenient alleyway. Erica kept walking on, turning up into Madison. As she neared 42nd Street, one building stood out and captured her attention. Even on such a day, with the mist swirling about it, the Four Freedoms Plaza was dazzling. Literally: its windows sparkled like diamonds, and seemed to be seamlessly integrated in with the walls. She realised that she hadn't actually been past this block during the day – she would have remembered this!

Slowly, she walked up to the entrance, her feeling of nervousness returning and vying with a sense of awe and wonderment. She entered into the foyer, a sweep of that unique glass and ultra-thin pillars that surely couldn't be structural… A bank of lifts sat across from the main doors, and she made her way to them, conscious that she seemed to be the only person in the foyer – no, there was another person standing by the lifts. Erica could tell it wasn't Peter; this guy was older, and dressed in a sort of uniform, he must be a doorman or something, she guessed.

She hesitated for a moment. What would she say to him? He smiled at her.

"Good morning. May I be of assistance?" he said.

"Uh… I-I'm meeting someone here…" she almost stammered, thinking it sounded like the lamest cliché out. She blushed.

"This isn't a very common rendezvous – who were you meeting?" the doorman questioned.

Feeling incredibly stupid, Erica was about to reply, when someone else replied for her.

"That'd be me."

The voice came from above them.

The doorman looked up unsurprised, as Erica also tilted her head back in relief to see Spider-Man nonchalantly clinging to the ceiling.

"Spider-Man," the man said.

"Last time I looked, O'Hoolihan," he quipped, "Reed's expecting us, I think…"

"Yes sir, go right up." He turned and called a lift; Erica couldn't see any buttons – she guessed the doorman had some sort of remote. Spider-Man dropped down from his position above them, and waved a hand in thanks at the man as the lift doors opened.

"Coming?" he asked Erica, and she followed him in.

An extremely short time later, the lift doors opened, and they exited into a reception room. A very pretty woman sat behind a desk – her only function seemed to be to wait for visitors. Behind her, taking up the whole wall, was a large mural of the Fantastic Four team, which appeared to be fused into a glass-like material. 

"Hi Roberta," Spider-Man said familiarly.

"Mr Richards has been informed of your arrival and will be with you presently," the woman replied in dulcet tones.

Erica was staring in such keen interest at the mural, she failed to notice when another figure appeared next to them, until Spider-Man nudged her.

"Erica… This is Reed Richards, aka Mr Fantastic. Reed; Erica Stirling, aka Spidey…"

Startled, Erica realised that Reed had extended his hand for her to shake, at the introductions. She shook, but was even more taken aback when she saw he really _had_ extended his hand, about an extra foot. That was plain weird…

"Spider-Man's told me all about you," Reed said sedately; but there was a suspicious gleam of amusement in his eye at Erica's reaction. "Come. Let's go up to the fields lab." 

He led the way, walking right through the mural, as if it were not there. Erica discovered that it wasn't – it was an illusion, a projection of light. They walked through into a large living area, screened off into different sections, and headed towards a door across the space and to the right. Erica took a curious squiz around, hoping she wasn't obviously gawking at the sights that met her. There was a robot off to one side, inactive but standing guard; there were several items that were unidentifiable to her, also of an advanced technology. Did Reed invent all these things himself?

"Mr Richards…" she began, only to be interrupted.

"Please, call me Reed. We're in the same biz, so to speak…"

"Uh, Reed… these, um, pieces of technology – did you…"

She was interrupted again, this time by her spider-sense. Whirling, she leapt backwards, landing to cling high up on one of the screens and looking back at what had set her sixth sense off. She noticed that Spider-Man had similarly leapt away from where he had been a moment before, and where now, floating down, was a figure totally covered in flame. As the upright figure touched the floor, its flame gradually extinguished itself, from the feet up, until a blond haired man stood there, laughing at Spider-Man.

"Almost got ya!"

"Not even close, Torchy," replied Spider-Man, "but you may have singed Erica's hair, and I wouldn't like to answer for what _she_ might do to you!"

"Yes, you might want to apologise to our guest for giving her a fright like that…" suggested Reed, clearly annoyed at Johnny's antics.

"Guest? What guest?" The Human Torch said, confused, turning around and searching for another person; he had been so intent on Spider-Man, he hadn't noticed anyone else.

Erica suddenly jumped down, landing right in front of Torch and giving him a startle himself. He was tall enough that the top of her head barely grazed his nose, but she stood there bristling at him.

"Are you out of your tiny mind?" she said, only slightly riled, but more putting on an act for Spider-Man's benefit, "You're lucky I don't get stuck in to you, you great lolloping larrikin."

He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Peace! I'm sorry, I didn't see you there. I didn't know you had a kid sister…" he added, to Spider-Man.

"He's my cousin," said Erica, although she probably didn't have to continue the subterfuge here – Reed knew the full story at least. "Pleased to meet you too…"

"Oh, I _am_ sorry," replied Johnny, really contrite this time, as he introduced himself and shook hands with Erica. 

"She's jake," Erica smiled up at him. He smiled back at her, and lit up his hair teasingly.

"That's enough!" Reed commanded.

Erica smothered her giggles, and was pretty sure Spider-Man was smirking under his mask as well.

"Why don't you run along and find someone else to play with," he suggested, "We've got work to do."

"See you around," Johnny said to Erica good naturedly, patently ignoring the webster as he left.

"Right then…" Reed ushered them through the door and down a corridor, and entered another room as the door slid back to allow him, like an airlock. 

If Erica had been in gawk mode earlier, she was in gawk overdrive now – this was like something out of a science fiction novel. In fact, it _was_ science fiction to her… She suspected that to most of the general populace in this alternate universe this equipment would also be pretty much science fiction too. She kept her hands in her pockets, not wanting to touch anything less she set an unknown quality into action. 

Reed, with Spider-Man at his side, was now over at a table crowded with monitors. He was deep in discussion with him, pointing out parts of the ray-gun, and explaining their function.

"…and you'd never guess what I found in there," he was saying, as he pulled open a small drawer, took a tiny object from it, and held it up to show them. 

It was a spider-tracer.

"How did that get there?" wondered Spider-Man aloud, as he took it from Reed. 

Erica felt the heat rise in her face. "Um, Dealy must have found it on his clothes – where I put it," she admitted.

The masked eyes turned to gaze at her for a moment, then went back to the inactive tracer. 

"So," he said, "Dealy must have used the frequency to attune the inter-dimensional field to my spider-sense, to target me specifically."

"Yes, and the field created was intended to reverse the reality of your powers, but because you didn't have your powers, the field instead _gave_ them to you, using the tracer to draw the required reality from Erica, who _did_ have spider-powers." 

"Then why do I still have them?" asked Erica.

"The field's calibration picked you and Spider-Man as being one and the same – this may sound convoluted, but I presume what happened is that it used your reality to transfer to Spider-Man, but at the same time as transferring it to him, transferred it back to you."

"Whoa. Heavy," she said, awed. She had no doubt that Reed was simplifying his explanation to her.

"Can you calibrate the field to generate Erica's dimension, and send her back home? Dealy did say that it was a random universe he was sending my powers to." asked Spider-Man.

"Yes, I'm reasonably certain I've done it. It's not that random – how else would Dealy have targeted a powerless dimension? I've altered the generator so that the field fixes on something, or in this case, someone, not of its current dimension, and tries to rectify it by sending the corruption back to its original source. Not complicated at all. As long as you have everything you came here with, I see no problem in getting you back." Reed finished, speaking to Erica.

"What-what about taking something from here back?" Erica was thinking about the spider-powers.

"A small object or objects on your person would go too – if that wasn't the case, then you would have arrived here with _nothing_ else from your dimension…"

"Uh, no, I meant the spider-powers – what will happen to them?"

"You know, I have no idea. I can only surmise that since you are from a dimension that doesn't have super-powers, then that will still hold true once you go back."

"OK," she said, knowing that it would be easier to accept back home anyway.

"Well, you've certainly turned that thing inside out and a half," Spidey nodded at the ray-gun, "Thanks for your help there."

"You're welcome. As I said – it's been an intriguing little puzzle – he's used a different semi-fluxial accelerator to the generators I'm used to. He must have been genius level to come up with this device," Reed mused.

"Genius perhaps, but severely twisted and dangerous, even though he cut a ridiculous figure. I think I could accept it better if he had been a mad genius, rather than peverted…" said Erica bitterly.

Reed observed her thoughtfully. "The irony of dichotomy of purpose; using good for bad, bad for good. You're in the company of two who know this too well."

"Thanks…I think."

He smiled at Erica, changing the subject. "You know that you belong to a select group now: those who have lived in a universe not their own… The Fantastic Four included."

"It's been an absolutely unforgettable experience, I'll give it that," laughed Erica. She gave a sidelong glance at Spider-Man, standing there arms folded, but at ease. She had to admit that, especially in her current surroundings, it was all starting to become hyper-real again. Home was lurking in the background, and the contrast becoming stronger.

Reed Richards sealed the ray-gun, or, as she supposed they should call it, the dimensional field generator, into a grey, plastic-looking bag, and handed it to Erica. She took the bag gingerly by the handles and thanked him again. 

"Can we exit via the roof?" asked Spider-Man as they left the lab.

"Sure, I'll escort you there."

Moving through several of the sliding doors, the small group entered a lift which almost instantaneously it seemed, had them on the roof top of the Plaza.

"Good-bye," Reed told Erica, before going back down. "and good luck."

"Now what?" she asked Spider-Man once the scientist had gone, "How'm I going to get down from here inconspicuously?"

"You're not." 

Erica could tell he was grinning under his mask.

"I'm gonna give you a ride across town. Hold on!" The web-slinger grabbed her - carefully, she noted – around the waist and leapt off the edge of the building, flinging out a webline automatically, sensing the anchor point through the mist. 

"Is this called getting your own back?" she screamed, exhilarated, as they whipped through the air.

A few blocks and a corner later, Spider-Man swung at the end of his web and dropped down to a roof top, dropping Erica at the same time. She tumbled over a couple of times as she fell, before coming to land in a crouch, not far from the wall-crawler.

"You ratbag! What'd you do that for?" she exclaimed as she straightened up. She was half laughing, not really expecting an answer.

"Ready for round two?" was all he said, as he grabbed her again. 

The mist hid them from the pedestrians down below, as they swung through Manhattan. Erica occasionally caught glimpses of the crowds of people and traffic in patches where the mist had cleared momentarily. Too soon for her, the ride ended; they had reached the apartment.

"I'll leave you here," Spider-Man said, "I'm going to drop in at work. Tell MJ I won't be long – we need to give you a send off later."

Still clutching the grey bag in one hand, Erica waved to Spider-Man as he slung his web, then entered through the roof top door, and down the stairs to the apartment.

*****************************************************


	36. The End

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A/N: This is the End (I hope its not too soppy :)), though I have a brief epilogue planned as well. Thanks to all of you who have read the whole thing - I hope you enjoyed it!

****

Cheers,

Apteryx

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****

Chapter 36: The End

There was a chaotic swirling of steam on the surface of her cup of tea. Erica held the mug, watching patterns form and dissolve – it reminded her of the mist outside, revealing and concealing.

"How long is this mist going to last?" she asked Mary-Jane, who was in the lounge at the table, doing some paperwork.

MJ placed her pen down and sighed. "If it hasn't burnt off by now, it'll be here till this afternoon. Why?"

"It's good, cos it'll blanket Central Park still at 11 o'clock. I've thought about it, and I think I should leave at the same place and time I arrived as possible – I don't know how these alternate universe field generator thingies work, but I'd hate to find myself in the middle of Wellington harbour or something stupid like that."

"Sounds reasonable to me." Mary-Jane glanced up at the clock. "That gives us another three hours to go…" She stood up, reaching for her large handbag and started delving into it, finding what she was searching for within a minute.

"Here, I want to give you this." 

She handed Erica a small plain cardboard box, flat and about the size of a pack of cards, looking a bit dented and fuzzy at the edges, as though they had been polished off by constant contact with other objects. Erica looked up, her eyebrows raised in surprise, she hadn't expected any gift from MJ. She set her tea on the bench and lifted up the lid, then let out a soft soundless exclamation with her breath; inside was a glimmer of silver and bright enamel, delicate yet strong - it was a necklace fashioned like a corner of a cob-web with a tiny detailed spider hanging off it. The necklace dangled through Erica's fingers as she took a closer inspection of it, the red and blue spider seeming almost alive as it climbed up a strand of web.

"It's beautiful! Did you buy this for me?" Erica wasn't the type who normally wore jewellery, but this was special.

"I designed it for myself and got it made on a whim a few years ago, but never wore it. It could give someone too much of a hint if they suspected Pete of being Spider-Man. I'd like you to have it - it'll be a talisman for you, and a keepsake."

Erica blinked, feeling pleased and guilty at once. 

"Thank-you MJ, thanks ever so." She admired it once more, then replaced the necklace in its box and put the box safely into her own handbag. "I'll keep it there, 'til after. I've got something small to give you in return, but nothing like that..."

"Forgedaboudit. I know we haven't seen eye-to-eye, and I'll admit I'll be glad when you've gone, but I admire your honesty and bravery. I-I've still not completely decided… but I'm going to give Pete and me another go. I've realised running away from it is not the answer, I've got to confront it head on… Listen to me. That's what you've been doing all along, isn't it? Confronting your fears. And I was advising you before the encounter with Dr Octopus to run away… Sheesh."

With a grin, Erica gave MJ a friendly slight poke on the shoulder with her forefinger, then went and picked up her mug again. "I may have done the same in your situation. I can't judge…" She moved over to the couch and reached behind it, pulling out a parcel from its hiding place. "Here… this is for you – nothing flash, but I thought you might like it.." she said diffidently as she tossed it to Mary-Jane.

Opening the present, MJ found a bound visual diary and two sets of pencils; one lead and one colour. 

"I thought you could use them for drawing designs, ideas for clothes and that sort of thing… it'd stop you using you PDA so much – I've gone off PDAs recently," Erica joked. 

"I've been meaning to start sketching. How did you know?"

Erica only shrugged her shoulders in response, blushing. She slurped the rest of her tea while MJ opened the tins of pencils and admired them.

"Now, where's that man of yours got to?" she said.

No more than half an hour more had passed when Peter returned. He let himself in the front door, but it was apparent he had taken the quick and easy way home to the apartment. He flung down a copy of the Daily Bugle onto the table on top of Mary-Jane's work, and gave her a big sloppy kiss.

"You're in a good mood," she remarked. 

"Must be catching – Jolly Jonah was as well." He pointed to the headlines in the newspaper: _Public Menace Plot Foiled_. 

"And he wasn't talking about me this time…" he read out the following headline underneath, "'Webhead Saves City VIPs From Terrorism', how about that!"

"That's wonderful Honey, but don't forget it was Erica too…"

"No, no," protested Erica, "It was _Spider-Man_, and that's all the public has to know."

Peter gave her a look of understanding. "That's right," he said, then continued, "Jonah said you'd resigned yesterday."

"Well, I had to do it sometime, besides, it wasn't really a resignation, just as I was never really employed… you know." Erica told Peter of her decision about gong back home. "I've also got something for you, a thank-you gift…"

"Hey, you didn't have to…" Peter interrupted, feeling embarrassed.

"…I wanted to." Erica almost shyly held out a squarish package for him to take. He unwrapped it; stared at it in surprise.

"A camera… a high-end digital…" He was just about speechless.

"You'll have to get a computer next," Erica said to fill the silence. Mary-Jane stared at her wordlessly; Peter was engrossed in his new gadget, taking it apart, then reassembling it and trying out the various functions. Eventually he stopped and looked about for Erica.

"It's great, but where did you get the money for it?"

"Out of my pay packet – I won't have any other use for it. There's a wee bit over, you can have it for rent."

Peter looked down at his feet. "You're very generous. I don't have anything to give you in return, except thanks. Thanks for everything…"

"Not a biggie, I reckon we're about even."

She went over to the couch and turned her backpack upside-down onto it, emptying out the contents and starting to sort through them. She only had a few small items from this universe that she wanted to take back with her; MJ's necklace, some of the photos that she and Peter had taken, but she had to make sure she had all of the items she arrived with – apart from the clothing she wore, the rest were small enough to fit into her handbag. It didn't take her long to sort her belongings. She had been faintly aware of a whispered conversation taking place behind her earlier, but paid it no attention, and it soon ended.

"There, I'm all ready," she said, jumping up. 

Only Mary-Jane was in the room, sitting at the table again finishing her paperwork. 

"Peter's seeing to a few last minute bits and pieces," she said, to Erica's look of measured surprise, indicating the closed bedroom door with her head.

"Oh," said Erica and sat down again. She immediately got up and wandered into the kitchen, and absently began washing dishes, to keep herself occupied; anything was better than twiddling thumbs. She checked out the window, the mist was still there. Thinking about home, she smiled to herself; she'd have to save up and take a trip to New York. Now that she knew the city as well as she did, it would be a shame not to take advantage of that knowledge. She'd love to amaze someone with it… She became sober – what was she going to tell them back home about what had happened, where she'd been? Not the truth, that's for sure. Maybe claim amnesia or something, like she had thought she'd had when she arrived here. She sighed; she'd work something out when it came to it… 

Erica wiped the bench, put the mugs up in the cupboard, hearing the clink as they jostled against each other. She heard a door open as well, and turned to see Peter standing there with something in his hand. He passed it to her, saying merely, "It's for you."

It was one of his notebooks. Curiously, Erica turned the pages, to discover a sort of diary of the last two weeks, made up of newspaper clippings, photocopies and printouts. As well as this, there were screeds of hand-written notes, some speculations, research and scientific notation and drawings, all in Peter's hand. 

"I started putting this together before Thursday; just finished it now. A memento. MJ thought you'd appreciate it."

"Oh, I do," she said, pleased.

"And this…" Peter held out her watch.

Hell, I almost forgot it, didn't I?" She strapped it on her wrist, noting the time as she did so. "We better cut a track soon, I've a feeling I really need to keep to this schedule."

"I know better than to ignore such hunches," Peter replied. MJ at the table just snorted. 

Ignoring her, Peter fetched and put on his jacket and picked up the grey bag containing the ray-gun. Mary-Jane set aside her papers in a neat pile and rose from her chair, tying her jacket by the sleeves around her hips. All Erica had to do now to be ready was grab her handbag, which she did, slipping Pete's notebook into it as she made for the door. 

"I'll meet you downstairs," she said, and without waiting for a reply, she left the apartment and leapt over the banister into the narrow stair-well, falling for a flight or two before she reached out with a hand and grabbed a passing railing. She then used the momentum to swing herself up underneath the stairs themselves, and clung there, upside-down, smiling broadly, before starting to crawl down. Her last playtime. This sticking-to-walls… she knew she would dream about it back home, and not nightmares either. She almost couldn't remember why she had been so scared when she first discovered this ability; almost, but not quite. The sound of the lift filled the stairway - MJ and Peter on their way down, time to get a move on. Too soon she arrived at the ground floor; sensing no one was about, she simply dropped to the floor and took her shoes out of her pockets, and sat on the bottom step to put them back on. She hadn't wanted to stick around the apartment any longer, because the longer she left it, the harder it was to leave, if that made sense. It did to her, at any rate. The whole leave-taking thing was starting to get a little maudlin, and although she had been an emotional dish-cloth recently, it wasn't really her nature to dwell on things as much as she had been. 

Besides, she wanted to go home… didn't she?

Erica tugged the strap of her handbag over her head, slung it over one shoulder and stood, as the lift doors opened and its occupants came out. 

"Catch the subway?" she suggested, mindful of the time, and her aching side. She no longer wore the support for her ribs – that was left up in Peter's extensive first aid cabinet, clean and dry since last night - and even the two not-so-strenuous bits of exercise this morning had set her ribs throbbing in pain again, a pain she had ignored.

"Good idea." Peter held the lobby door open for her and MJ to walk through, then followed after them onto the street.

The mist hit Erica on the face, cold and damp. She was glad of her jacket and woollen top as they walked to the station on Eighth Avenue; if anything, the mist seemed denser now than it had earlier this morning. New York was once again an unfamiliar city; buildings vanished from sight, honks from the traffic magnified, and a peculiar melange of smells infiltrated the air along with the mist. It was a relief of sorts to descend down into the subway, still the same as ever.

The silent trio emerged at 103rd Street. Mary-Jane had been chatting inconsequentially until the train ride, but became quiet as if she had suddenly, simply, ran out of things to say. 

Inside the Park, along the walkway north, Erica began to wish that it wasn't so foggy; the atmosphere was weighing down on them all. A sunny warm day, such as there'd been when she first arrived, would be much nicer. The shapes of the trees, looming out at them, was pretty eerie; not that she was scared or anything, she and Peter could still handle any menace that might feel inclined to use the mist for cover and be out looking for easy pickings. But a sunny day would be more cheerful…

"A penny for them," said Peter, breaking in on her thoughts.

"I was just wishing it were sunny, that's all."

"Mm-hm. Do you know whereabouts you 'landed'?"

"Yes, almost exactly. I looked it up on a map later that afternoon. The Ravine is over that way," she pointed, though it was hard to make out any details of the path. "Y'know, when I first came here, I thought I was still in Wellington – we have a Central Park too, though not as big as this one," she chuckled at the understatement, "I couldn't understand why there were so many Americans about – thought a big cruise ship had docked or something. Geez, was I wrong…"

Peter chuckled with her. "I would've been surprised if you _had_ thought 'oh, hello, I've been transported into a different dimension and suddenly gained super-powers, I wonder how that happened?' That's not a normal occurrence, even here." 

"Well it didn't take me long to figure out, not to a person with my intelligence and superior research skills.."

"And hubris…"

"You mean _humbleness_, surely."

"Humbug!"

"Bah!"

"Honestly, you two!" cut in Mary-Jane, bemused, as both Peter and Erica had a fit of the giggles.

Still grinning, Erica surveyed the area; the path had narrowed and been joined by a small stream running along side. Turning her head around, she tried to make out the details of the trees, their white blossoms almost glowing in the mist and looked down at the sparse undergrowth, damp and dank in this weather. 

"Here," she said flatly, no longer smiling. She checked her watch; ten to eleven - ten minutes to go. She turned to see the others standing behind her, Peter with a very glum expression.

"Cheer up," she said, "'If the heart of a man is deprest with cares, The mist is dispell'd when a woman appears.' Although I'm disappearing, not appearing… actually, scrub that quote, it doesn't fit, does it?" Erica paused, aware that she was rabbiting on about nothing. 

"I guess this is good-bye, then." She gave Mary-Jane a hug, then stepped back, still holding her hands. "Thanks for your support, especially after that initial misunderstanding. You're a true friend, and it's a pity we didn't get to know each other more."

MJ smiled, shivering slightly. "Well, I won't forget you in a hurry – every time I see that scar on my husband's arm, I'll be reminded of you."

Erica threw back her head and laughed, at the same time unwillingly blushing.

She turned to face Peter.

"Well, Cuz…" she faltered, then began again, determined this was not going to turn into a feast of self-pity. "This isn't something I can ever tell anyone back home, but meeting a super-hero, and discovering that he is not only a hero and a man to look up to, but a good friend to care about, has to be the most memorable experience I've ever had, as well as the most treasured. And before it gets too soppy for you, I want to say you're the best cousin I've got."

"You're the _only_ cousin I've got, and now I'm losing her… and to think I was jealous of you…"

"Oh, Pete…"

He reached out, and they hugged, a long, silent hug. Eventually, Erica pushed away, smiling.

"What's so funny?" asked Peter, seeing the smile.

"Something you'd appreciate…" She checked her watch, "I'd better get into position – so you can beam me up."

She moved off the path, and walked over to the spot she had figured was likely, while Peter opened the grey bag and removed the ray-gun. He passed the bag to MJ, who hugged it to herself, standing close to Peter's side.

Peter half raised the generator. "Are you ready?" he said.

"In a sec." She thought back to her comic reading days, "You may not see me again, but I'll see you…" she said, watching their faces, "I'll see you in the funny pages!"

Laughing, Peter raised the ray-gun, and fired it.

As the intense light spread across her vision, deleting her final view of Peter and MJ, Erica gave way to an instant's panic.

"Wait!" she cried, "I've changed my mi—" was all she was able to get out before the light turned to blackness.

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	37. Epilogue

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A/N: Sorry for the wait for the epilogue - I wrote it, and then my computer turned it into gibberish and I had to re-write the whole thing again from memory (tricky thing, memory…), grrr. 

Appreciative Reader & ShadowShock: Thanks for the reviews! Thanks for all your comments and for sticking with my story! I hope the ending doesn't disappoint :) 

Daveykins: Hmmm, a), b), or c)… I think I'll go with d), something different (but definitely not a), I'm not a DC kinda person :D )

I'll work slowly on fixing bits in the story I'm not entirely happy with myself, so it will periodically be updated.

This is it; The End, the finale, the cessation of care… heh :-)

Till next time, ka kite ano and Cheers!

Apteryx

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__ __ ****

Epilogue

The cold concrete felt rough and gritty against her face and outstretched hands. Erica couldn't tell which way up she was – was she climbing a wall, or? She lifted up her aching, whirling head and opened her eyes. Immediately, the world settled and she found herself lying on the floor of her garage, her handbag by her side, familiar objects about her, and her car keys further off where she must have flung them when she fell the first time. With a groan, Erica got her hands beneath her and gingerly sat up.

It had worked; the dimensional field generator had worked, and she was back home again. 

The garage doors were still wide open, in full view of the street; Erica wondered about this as she stood and walked shakily out and up the steps to her house, the wind in her face and only half seeing the glimpse of glittery sea in the distance. Why hadn't anyone noticed anything odd? The fact that both her car and her keys had still been there started her thinking – had any time at all passed here since she had gone? 

Inside, her computer told her the answer: no. 

That wasn't so strange; she supposed if dimensions could be travelled, well, what was time except another type of dimension? But she really didn't feel like picking up the threads of her old life just yet, going to breakfast with her friend Liz, as she had been about to what seemed like two weeks ago to her. Erica leaned back, tired, in her chair and picked up the phone, dialled Liz's cell phone, intending to cancel. There was no answer. Liz was probably already sitting at a table at Cafe Astorio's already, waiting for her. 

Erica sighed; her head had cleared, but her ribs ached abominably – were the sore ribs really from fights? Or from her fall in the garage? Confused, Erica opened up her handbag. There, she found proof that it hadn't been all a hallucination; it had been real. In relief, she pulled out a small box, placing it on the table next to her computer. She put the necklace from the box around her neck, smiling at the memory, then sighing again, got up, took her hand bag and went out of the house once more down to the garage. She had decided to go to breakfast anyway – or lunch… at least she could adjust to the time difference without the accompanying jet lag – to start taking control of her life again, she thought, as she backed the car out.

Town was busy. Erica eventually found a car park, then walked briskly to the café, through the people sitting in the sun in Midland Park.

"Hi, I hope I'm not too late," she said, slipping into a chair at the table where Liz sat. 

"Don't make a habit of it," Liz joked. Erica smiled back – she was hardly ever late.

Breakfast was not a success. Thoughts and memories intruded in Erica's mind with disturbing clarity – meeting face to face with Dealy; Spidey moving through the dark streets of the development; Spidey fighting the Untongued in the warehouse.

"…calling Erica. I repeat: Earth calling Erica."

"What?"

She'd done it again; segued off into a daydream. "I'm sorry," she apologised, "I haven't had enough sleep lately…"

"Yes, you do look rather worn out. Well, at least you've eaten. I'll catch up with you later sometime, when you're more awake. See ya!" Liz gathered up her belongings and left Erica still sitting at the table, staring into her tea cup. 

This was no good. Erica kept having the odd feeling her mind was trying to tell her something…

Out in the sun, she decided a walk around the waterfront might shake her out of her preoccupation; a good blast of the wind to clear out the cobwebs.

After a good long walk, and feeling much better and more with it, Erica was heading back to the car, parked down by the old sheds which were going to be converted into apartments. She'd had a deep think about things, and had decided that she was going to change careers again, go back to crewing while she was still young and able enough. Librarianship was something she could catch again once she was no longer able to sail, but she wished to have a more active job now.

Passing between the brick side of the shed, and a pile of pre-cast concrete slabs, Erica had a sudden notion – did her spider-powers disappear when she came back home? Taking a quick glance around, she leapt for the top of the slabs; nothing. Climbing the brick wall was a failed effort as well. Erica smiled wryly to herself, half embarrassed at even attempting the try. Back to normal it was.

Changing her career acted as a catalyst for change in other areas of her life, it seemed. Over the next few months, Erica couldn't afford to keep up mortgage payments at the same level with her new job, to her regret, so she rented out her house and moved into a friend's sleep-out in Strathmore. She sold her car, and went back to relying on public transport, taking the trolley buses into town whenever she was in port. Her weeks off, she spent maintaining her fitness tramping the back-country ranges, and studying through the Open Polytech.

Her relationship with her mother went from occasional casual contact to non-existent; her Mum had gained a kooky new partner who claimed that Erica's aura meant that anyone associating with her would be lead into a life of danger, and that death hovered about her. Erica decided to wait until her Mum came to her senses again and kicked the bloke out.

In all, she was content. Even without spider-powers, she had gained new confidence and skill handling the rigging when sailing. She enjoyed the contact with enthusiastic teenagers learning the ropes of both ship and adulthood. She revelled in the quiet solitude of the bush, pleased to hear bird life beginning to make a comeback after the ravages of possums and rats. She appreciated the time spent learning, studying, of all things, journalism, privately grinning to think of Robbie's comments.

Except for one thing: the flashbacks.

Like those she had had when having breakfast with Liz when she first arrived back. She had thought that over time, the flashbacks would fade, become memories, like remembering a good movie she'd seen, or a book she'd read. But no, they had stayed as strong as then.

In fact if anything, they were becoming more insistent, intrusive. She'd been lucky that they hadn't affected her day-to-day functioning, or safety - especially when she'd had one up on the top-gallant – it had been one of Spidey swinging across to Greenwich, and to her astonishment, when she 'woke up' she discovered that she had managed to belay the line she'd been working on, and reach the deck without knowing how, but given the amazed looks and comments she got from those who witnessed it, it must have been somewhat spectacular.

She considered paying a visit to a psychologist, and talking to them about the flashbacks, suspecting they were possibly similar to those experienced by victims of trauma, but what would that achieve, besides making the psychologist wealthier? She might well end up being diagnosed with a condition she knew she didn't have, to her detriment.

Over time she also became more convinced that the flashbacks were including memories that weren't hers; did she really help that particular blonde woman? Did she really have a run in with the Shocker on Fifth Avenue? Was her comic book reading coming back to haunt her? 

What was it her subconscious was trying to tell her?

Sitting hunched over against the cold wind on one of the wooden sculptures on the City to Sea bridge, Erica flicked through the pages of Peter's notebook, reading, searching. She unconsciously fingered the spider necklace as she did so. Time to stop moping around like a wet hen; what was the cause of these episodic flashbacks? When she thought that her life would be changed by her experiences, she hadn't counted on quite this effect. Evidently the dimensional field generator hadn't worked as expected. What was it that Reed said again? _'…as long as you have everything you came here with, I see no problem in getting you back…' _Well she got back OK, but…

She flipped absently through the book once more, as she concentrated, trying to remember whether she had left anything behind - perhaps at the hotel - when another episode intruded. 

__

Pausing on the sidewalk, pulling her wallet from her handbag and dropping a dollar into Peter's open palm, watching it glint in his hand, watching his bemused expression, the hand closing and putting the coin into his trouser pocket…

The dollar coin… Cripes, that was some sensitive dimensional field generator thingummyjig to get its tits in a tangle over a dollar! However, it did mean there was still a possible connection between this dimension and Spider-Man's. It also meant she was not going to forget her time there any time soon.

Erica hopped down from her perch, and with a smile tucked the notebook back in her bag. 

Back to normal it was not, and that was fine with her.

__

The End.

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End file.
